


A Slow Burn To Honesty

by Mistubav



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Angst and Drama, Demon Big in Denial, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual relationship, Friends to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Original Character(s), Slow Burn, Strained Relationships, We just have to sludge through all this angst first, angel big in denial, gangster au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-07-12 14:30:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 29,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19947706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistubav/pseuds/Mistubav
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale can't seem to admit their feelings to one another. So, Crowley runs away to 1920's America and completely changes his identity. Meanwhile, Aziraphale sulks and regrets lost time. But Aziraphale is determined to make up to his love. Even if Crowley would rather never see him again.*Mini Hiatus*





	1. St. James Park

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note, Aziraphale hasn't realized he loves Crowley yet. We all know that happens in 1941. So of course he is going to immediately reject Crowley's feelings. Trust me, I had so much trouble writing a mean Aziraphale. It was not easy so, sorry if he seems a little out of character.

Crowley had mastered the art of slipping in little “I love you’s” without Aziraphale noticing. He thought he would spend the rest of his life skirting around his overwhelming affection for the angel. But, of course, like the screw up he is, something had to go wrong.

It was 1862 at their meeting in St. James Park. They meandered along the park. Crowley wistfully casting glances at Aziraphale, as he rambled on about the recent first edition book he had obtained. Crowley wasn’t really paying attention to his words, more to the angel’s movements and face. He has such a warm presence that Crowley still hadn’t tire of it. A warmth of a thousand pleasantly warm suns. If he could capture that warmth in a bottle he might be able to fill the cold part in him that he gained when he Fell.

“Crowley? Dear, what’s the matter?” Aziraphale stood a few steps in front of Crowley. Aziraphale’s face was scrunched up in confusion and, _care? No, just confusion._ Crowley confirmed to himself. _Demon, remember? He doesn’t see you the way you see him._

“Nothing Aziraphale. Nothing‘s wrong.” Aziraphale’s gaze lingered on Crowley’s face just a little longer before nodding. Aziraphale toyed with his hand and forced a tight lipped smile. He looked over his shoulder to the pond that was only a few steps away. He turned back around with a big, _genuine_ smile on his face.

“Oh Crowley! The skyline is beautiful! Come on, we have to get a move on if we want to have the best view of it!” The angel’s face absolutely lights up, erasing the earlier look on his face. And Crowley can feel himself melt. He feels his face painted red and his mouth turned into a great big smile. _Oh I love you so much Aziraphale._

And something happens. Aziraphale’s face falls. But Crowley is still staring at Aziraphale with the same lovelorn look. That is until, he notices the angel’s almost disgusted look directed at Crowley.

“Angel? What’sss with the look on your face? I haven’t sssaid anything wrong have I?” Crowley asks, growing anxious and calmly. He feels a coldness entrap him. A feeling he hadn't felt around Aziraphale in all the time they had spent together.

Aziraphale only stares. A cold ice now in his eyes. His mouth turned up in an uncharastic sneer.

“I don’t know _demon?_ Would you confess your love willy-nilly to anyone that was the slightest bit kind to you? In your head, is it fine to play with feelings? Knowing your kind, it probably is, you horrendous demon.” Aziraphale’s eyes don’t seem to be on Crowley as he spits at him. He only glances at him occasionally, preferring to cast glances around the park.

This time Crowley _crumbles._ If he could drop dead permanently, he would. But having this confrontation in the middle of the park felt just as horrific. He stumbles back a bit, not expecting that from Aziraphale.

“ _What?_ ” He barely whispers out. Aziraphale’s eyes are fixed to the ground. His shoulder rise and fall fast, with the audible breaths he is taking. Aziraphale straightens up and stares Crowley in the eyes. Crowley stays in his half crumbled position, He’s frozen by the cold dead stare Aziraphale is giving him.

“You heard me the first time, _Crawly_.” Crowley feels the first tears pinprick his eyes. Aziraphale only stares at him, saying, doing nothing. Crowley can’t look away, the two locked in a stare down. Crowley looks away first, his heart _disintegrated_. Aziraphale turns completely away from him. Aziraphale fiddles with his clothes and hat, distracting himself from what he was about to do. Crowley can only look at him with the face of a broken man, a rejected man.

“I think it’s best we break off the Arrangement,” a moment of silence that felt like 5,000 years passes, “for good.” Aziraphale doesn’t even spare him a glance over his shoulder. His voice is the final nail in Crowley’s coffin. Cold and business like, nothing like the sunny angel Crowley was just talking to. He felt a tear running down his face. A foolish hope sits in Crowley though, that maybe Aziraphale will come around in a day or two and they could go back to normal. But he knows, deep down this is how it ends. With him being a screw up, the only thing he can be.

“Fine, fine, if that’s what you _really_ want.” Crowley half-heartedly mummers. Aziraphale stomps off without even a goodbye. Crowley is still frozen in the middle of the park. He doesn’t feel the sympathetic or apathetic eyes of the other park goers, he can only feel his world falling apart. The cold from The Fall has came back, encasing him in ice. And it was all because of one person, the one he thought could make it go away, even if for a little bit.

Crowley usually wasn’t one for vengeance or hate. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was rejected, or it was in public, or that he felt like he was stepped on, felt less than dirt, or that it all came from _Aziraphale, the only person he truly cared for_. But a grudge was formed that day, against the angel that Crowley once loved more than anything.


	2. The Other Side of the Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or as I like to call it, "Aziraphale realizes he is a big dumbass"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ""Bugger!" he said. It was the first time he'd sworn in more than six thousand years."..... I'm just gonna galaxy brain it, and say fuck canon  
> Also, I know technically they can't teleport but it's just easier, k?

Aziraphale went home to a crowded bookshop that day in 1862. As he entered, he slammed the door behind him. What was Crowley thinking!? He could have given away the whole Arrangement with that slip up! What would Aziraphale do without Crowley? What would be the point of going through time without someone to tell it all to? Without someone there to laugh with you and be there for you? What would be the point?

Aziraphale tried to forget these pestering questions by opening an old philosophy book. He sat at his desk and opened the book, intensely staring at the words on the page. If someone walked in with the misguided intention of buying a book, the look on Aziraphale’s face would be enough to make them turn around instantly.

Aziraphale couldn’t focus on the book, no matter how much he tried. His thoughts always found their way back to Crowley and the feelings that came with that. He should feel happy that he no longer had any chance of Falling, now that he stopped consorting with the enemy. But, when you’ve known someone for about 6,000 years, those fond feelings of love- wait love? _Just friends love? Or like LOVE love for a certain handsome, oddly kind demon?_

Aziraphale reached an epiphany.

“Fuck.”

With closed eyes and a deep sigh, Aziraphale laid his head back. Did he love Crowley back? No, he couldn’t, _he shouldn’t, he is the ENEMY remember?_

_Yes, but he’s been nicer to you than the entirety of Heaven. He has always been there, never judging you. Always there for you._

_He does to himself! We both know how a demon acts! He is using you!_

_No, Crowley does care. Why would Crowley let him out during the French revolution? What was the point of mircaling Hamlet into a success? What would he get out of that? Nothing, so maybe there is something more. More than us just being friends._

_You know about falling, you’ve heard the stories and seen the things it can do to an angel. The burning wings, the boiling pits of molten fire, the audible smack of falling onto the sulfur. He just wants to drag everybody down with him._

_I’d gladly fall from Grace if I could show him how much he really means to me._

Aziraphale’s face breaks into a smile, one that stretches from ear to ear. A sense of content and resolution flows through him. He does love Crowley, more than a friend in so many ways. Of course it is unorthodox to be _in love_ with a demon of all people but he would gladly take more clandestine meetings, the fear of being caught, then being alone till the end of the world. That’s when Aziraphale realizes his mistake. How, by any chance in Heaven or Hell is he going to convince Crowley that he truly loves him back?

“Oh bugger.”

\---- Crowley’s Side ----

In the days since the incident, Crowley has been laying on the floor in his flat. Staring at nothing but the floor through the tears in his eyes. Most times the only thing he can feel is the pain of clenching his teeth to stop these pathetic tears. He can’t sit up, or even come out of the fetal position.

After Crowley lost sight of Aziraphale in the park, he teleported himself to his flat. He stood in the main room for who knows how long. Tears endlessly falling down his face. No sound leaves his voice, he just stands, staring. He can’t even comprehend it has happened. It’s only two days later does he settle into the fetal position on the floor. He can’t believe how many tears he’s losing over this. He is a demon! An angel could _never ever_ be in love with a demon. What was he honestly expecting anything but Aziraphale’s understandable reaction? A confession of love back? How stupid was he!?

He doesn’t understand how he can still be crying after four whole days. But they continue, no matter how hard Crowley clenches his teeth and yells at nothing.

He doesn’t know how long it takes him to stop, he suspects maybe a week, or more. He can’t tell. After the tears dry up, he only feels empty. The same empty from when he Fell, another sign he can only be a screw-up. He wants to sleep, to just sleep and not wake up till this stone in his stomach disappears. But, he doesn’t at the same time. He wants to get up and show Aziraphale that _no, your rejection did not break my heart into nothing but dust. I’m totally, definitely, 100% better and fine without you._ He mulls over that thought a little more. _Yeah, he totally is 100% better without Aziraphale always there. Yes, he is, and even if not right now, he will be._

He rises from the floor, slowly but surely. He looks around the room with a new vigor. _Yeah, fuck Aziraphale, I have the sun if I get cold. I don’t need no angel and his stupidly great smile._ He falters but he rids himself of those thoughts. He doesn’t need Aziraphale and he is gonna show him.

With this new thought process, Crowley decides the best way to show he doesn’t need the angel is by _completely leaving the country._

_No,_ he thinks quickly to himself. _It isn’t so he can’t accidentally run into Aziraphale and this whole defense mechanism will crumble beneath him. That totally isn’t why._

Crowley beams. He’s really gonna show it to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all comments and kudos on the last chapter! It means so much, thank you again.


	3. The Double-Edged (Flaming) Sword

Aziraphale realizes that same night that he can’t just pop up in Crowley’s flat expecting Crowley to immediately forgive him. So, he did what any good friend would do and decided he would wait it out. He was also aware of the double edged sword he was walking here. If he waited too long then Crowley will think its final, but show up to soon and their relationship will be beyond repair. _It probably already is_. Aziraphale stops his pacing- _he was pacing?_ A sense of foreboding and dread floods over him. He agrees, they won’t ever be able to completely trust one another again. But he can’t just do nothing. He can't just let those 6,000 years of friendship disappear.

_If I do wait too long, I can at least explain to him that I wanted to give him enough time and space._

A quick nod and Aziraphale goes back to _unconsciously_ pacing the room again. His hand under his chin and his glasses on his face. He had unconsciously been pacing the (not opened) bookstore for hours. His thoughts always doing the same circle.

_What if I’m waiting to long? What if I can’t fix us? What is he completely rejects me? It would only make sense._

_Those ideas are all possible, but it’s better to try then live your life held down by these regrets. It’s better to try and fail than never know if it could have gotten better._

Then, after doing that lap a few times, he trails to what he is going to say to Crowley. Nothing could undo the vile words between them, but again, he’s going to try.

_I can’t outright confess my newly realized feelings, they’d feel cheap. I can’t say sorry, that would mean nothing to Crowley. Crowley was a man of action anyway. Hamlet, freeing me in the French revolution, indulging me with expensive dinners and long talks. All without saying the words, no wonder I always felt so much love around Crowley._

A small smile slips onto his face for a second. Then he goes back to concentrating.

_How will I ever convince him? At least it doesn’t have to be over night. We can talk it out and slowly build that bridge again. But that begs the question, how to convince him to even look at me and think we could work it out? A grand gesture? That’s may be a good start but again, that seems so cheap. And what would it even be? Dinner isn’t his thing, he can’t enjoy it like I do. I don’t know what to give him._

Again, a feeling of dread overwhelms him. _Why try? What’s the point? Why even try if nothing will come of it? Maybe it is better to just live with this regret. Isn’t it what I deserves?_

_But not what Crowley deserves. He deserves something better than me and a side of nothing. He deserves an apology, no matter how half baked._

And the cycle continues of coming up with a solution as he waits it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to all the nice comments and all the kudos! I know this one is pretty short but something big is gonna happen next chapter, so hope y'all are ready for that. Thank you again!


	4. An Empty Bed and Ruined Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't update last night. My stomach went "fuck you" and that was that.  
> Also, give me one more chapter and we will FINALLY get to the 1920's. We're almost there.

Aziraphale finally decides that he has waited long enough. It’s been a week, reasonably enough time for Crowley to not be _super_ angry at him. Just the right amount of time for them both. 

Aziraphale stood in front of the door to Crowley’s flat. He had flowers, (all the flowers meaning sorry and love) in his arms. He hoped this would work, he had seen it work with other couples. Sure, they weren’t just another couple, but it was a start. (And he actually just couldn’t think of a better gesture.) He bounced on his heels, looking to anything but the door. Three deep breaths later and he knocked. Not loud or anything, just a polite knock. He waited a few minutes. He began to panic but explained it away. _Crowley wouldn’t be the type for guest, he’d probably just ignore them till they left._

Those minutes passed and Aziraphale felt himself sweat. He knocked a second time, a little harder and a tad more desperate. Two exact minutes passed, and Aziraphale knocked again. This time he called out.

“Crowley dear? I’m so very sorry about what I said. You deserve more than just an apology but please let me make it up to you. Please let me in.” He waits another two exact minutes and instead of letting the panic get to him he comes up with an idea. Of course! Crowley isn’t ignoring him, (even if he was it was justified) he’s just sleeping! Aziraphale knew Crowley likes to sleep, even if neither of them need it. So Aziraphale turns the door knob, with a little miracle, and opens it.

He comes to see what he expected from Crowley’s flat. A cold and spacious room with little furniture. He isn’t very familiar with his flat, such as where his bedroom would be. So, Aziraphale steels himself and wanders around the flat, occasionally rearranging the flowers to be in his other arm. _No furniture seems gone, nothing seems out of place. All signs pointing to he IS here and to NOT worry, not one bit._

As Aziraphale turns more corners the flowers grow messier and messier. Till eventually some flowers hang limply and jut out from the bouquet. He finally comes across a door, the final door that Aziraphale hasn’t look behind. Aziraphale’s breaths are quick and short. He doesn’t think as he flings open the door. His attention is solely on the bed in the room. He doesn’t realize the bed is _empty_ till he’s thrown off the covers. The flowers drop onto the bed and Aziraphale stumbles back. His hands fly to his mouth and the tears are already leaving his eyes.

Aziraphale can barely think. He crumbles onto the floor, curled into himself as much as he can. He feels his wings wrap around himself as he sobs. It’s all his fault, he doesn’t even have a chance to make it up. 

_It’s ruined, it’s ruined, It’s ruined! I’ve ruined my longest friendship and icoudln’teventellhimandit’sallmyfaultwhhywhywhywhywhy?_

Soon, he can’t even think. All that he can feel is what Crowley must have felt, but worse, so much worse. That overwhelming feeling of, _I’m such a screw up, how could he love me?_

~~~~~~~

Aziraphale, after getting his bearings, crawls into Crowley's bed. He doesn’t stop crying however. Sometimes, he does fall asleep, the pain and despair pulls his eyes close. And he’ll wake up, almost forgetting that he didn’t confess, that Crowley isn’t just using the bathroom and will return to the bed soon. But he does, every time his actions come flooding back and the anguish always refuels his tears. He isn’t sure how long he stayed like that. Wrapped up in Crowley’s blankets, trying to recapture how it felt to be near him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos on the story! It's a good pick me up for the day.  
> Fun fact: Throughout the years Aziraphale stays in Crowley's bed, he miracles it so Crowley's smell never leaves the blanket! Fun fact over.


	5. A Dues Ex Machina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …Don't mind me, just saying Skin and Bones by Cage the Elephant is a really good song. That's all... enjoy the story....

On one particular day, Aziraphale finally got out of bed. He wasn’t sure why (Call it "God got really tired of seeing her OTP apart." or whatever you will) but he suddenly got this thought. The thought that maybe Crowley had blown off enough steam and was simply off doing trouble somewhere else in England. The idea that he was out there, somewhere in England no less, was enough. He felt hope, something bright and shiny and he had to keep holding onto it. The despair had weighed enough on him. He was going to get out of bed. 

So on one particular day, Aziraphale rose from Crowley’s blankets. He was still in the same garb he came to his flat in. He doesn’t mind though. He has a smile on his face with a bright shine in his eyes. 

He walks into the streets, noticing just how different and grand it felt. Instead of the rundown, dirty, cobblestone streets, it was polished and beautiful. A breath of fresh air for Aziraphale. He looks around at the people of the time. They wear mostly the same clothes, except the sideburns are gone. He nods to himself and quickly miracles them away. No one notices on the busy, _paved_ , streets. 

His bookshop should be in the exact same place it had always been, and, by some miracle, it was! A relaxed sigh leaves him and he walks into the shop. He takes in the familiar, homely smell of the dusty books. 

The next worry is after how many years- _wait. That is the next worry, what decade am I in? It reasonably couldn’t have been that long, the fashion sense hadn’t changed that much._ He goes back into the streets and sees a newsstand not too far away. Aziraphale reaches the little stand. He pays the kind sir (and grants him good luck for a whole year) and grabs the newspaper. A gasp audibly leaves his mouth as he looks at the date. 

_1919??? I spent 50 odd years in his bed? How did this happen?_

He rushed back to his shop, winded by the time he closes the door behind him. The newspaper is still tucked under his arm. His breaths weren’t from running (okay, some were), they were from the shock that he had stayed in a single place, doing nothing, for _50 odd_ years. What was he thinking? _Well you weren’t thinking about anything other than how much of a screw-up you are._

He hurriedly pulls the newspaper out. He scans the title of the newspaper, growing more shocked by the second.

7 Members Of Chicago Gang Lined Up Against Wall and Shot To Death By 11 Men and One Girl 

_A girl? That’s an odd thing to add to the paper._

Sources are limited as to who was actually involved. But one thing was for certain, a flapper with blazing red hair was seen running from the scene with the other 11 members. The gang was seen running from the scene in the newly released and expensive Bentley. The flapper from earlier was seen driving the car. 

Aziraphale ponders to himself. A girl with bright red hair. _Crowley has been always for reinventing himself. It wouldn’t be_ **_too_ ** _much of a stretch to say that there was a possibility that was him, right? And why would he stay in England, anyway? Crowley wouldn’t want to have any chance of seeing me in the streets. I wouldn't want the chance to run into the man that treated me like dirt, either. I stay on Earth for a reason. Right, best to check this lead out. Even if Crowley is here somewhere in England I have no idea where to start. This is my best lead. Yes, yes it is._

Aziraphale convinces himself that this is, at the very least, a good starting point. Zipping back to Soho in case it was a dead end wouldn’t hurt him. Aziraphale smiles again to himself, solidifying that this was the best plan. He breaths, taking a moment to himself. He might be wasting valuable seconds standing around, but he was going to mend this bridge the right way. Maybe it had been too long but he can’t stop himself from hoping. He counts his breaths, readying himself. He nods to himself and then goes to prepare his suitcase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 80 kudos!?!? Thank you all so much! We are going to meet Gangster Crowley next chapter, so, buckle up buckaroos.


	6. One Chicago Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We did it! We finally reached the 1920's! The story is finally gonna go somewhere! Yay!

-Time: Valentines Day 1919-

Crowley can’t stop the manic grin encompassing her face. Or the pure joy she feels. As the car speeds away from the Lincoln Park garage, the gang is laughing and hollering behind her. _I can’t believe we pulled that off._

“Woah, Scarlett, didn’t think you had it in you!” Bernie says into her ear. She flashes a smile to him and throws a wink over her sunglasses. Even if she’s been driving since the first car came out, it’s still feels new and fun. No strings attached, no one there to _belittle_ her, just her and the wind in her hair.

“Well boys, it takes more than looks to be this sexy.” She smirks and everyone gets a laugh out of it. Crowley miracled it so that the gang could be as loud as they want as she raced back to the burlesque lounge/speakeasy. _They deserve time to let their hair down as well._

By the time they’ve reached home base, the boys have mostly quieted down. They sluggishly walk to the backdoor, Crowley the last one to get out. She makes sure the rest of the boys she has come to consider her closest friends get inside safe and sound. Since joining the gang and making new friends, Crowley finally felt the cold from the Fall and 1862 loosen its death grip. 

She makes sure all the boys are in a bed before heading to her own room. She changes into her sleepwear (setting aside her glasses) then, pours herself some liquor. 

_A day well spent._ Crowley relaxes as she glimpses at the liquor in her glass.

The Prohibition laws were just rising over the horizon. Crowley rolls her eyes, _there’s no way they are going to completely get rid of alcohol, not with me around. Now, might not have been the best time to do the hit,_ (one of the reasons to ban alcohol was because of gang violence) _but I wouldn't want to risk any competition. The only one going to profit off of Prohibition is my gang._ _T_ _his'll be the perfect way to get Aziraphale's attention. He'll come looking for me and see that I'm running a gang, all by myself. He'll see that I don't need him, not anymore._

Crowley catches herself in the mirror opposite of where she stands. She's met with a forlorn gaze.

_I do want to show Aziraphale up, give him all the pain he gave me._

The idea that once kept her going feels like a week crutch. The part of her that screams for revenge is loud and rings in her ears. But another part of her whispers, that maybe she does really mi-

The glass shatters in her hand. Crowley flinches as she looks at the glass shards surrounding her. She sighs, this is the fifth glass she’s broken just this month. Normally, Crowley would miracle it back but the thoughts of _him_ have ruined her mood. She stomps over to bed and lays down. Wrapped in blankets, Crowley forced herself to think of anything but _him_. Such as the perfect way to become the top alcohol trader once Prohibition has really set in. 

\---- Aziraphale’s side ----

One long train ride and two long boat rides later, Aziraphale had finally landed in Chicago. Since he assumed Crowley was part of a gang, he knew it was best to not pop up wherever Crowley was. And, he also had no idea where that would be. So, he decided that he would first start with finding a place to stay. After looking around, he comes across The Drake, a new hotel in Chicago. A little miracle here and there and he has a room. 

A room with an amazing view. If he wasn't an angel he'd say it was Heaven on Earth. 

The room stretches over the harbor that Aziraphale had arrived in. The streetlamp lights shone magnificently on the black water. It was like the harbor itself become the starry sky above. The room made Aziraphale feel warm and cozy. The bed was huge and the blankets and pillows were fluffy. The lights were bright and the room was a light brown, much like his own suits. _I wish I could share this view with Crowley._

Once he thought that, his mood sullied. He mulled over the thoughts of Crowley as he finished unpacking his suitcase. He couldn’t help but be anxious over their reunion. Sure, it would be a rocky start but he felt hopeful. This was his chance to finally make things right. After all the bumps in the road, here was a new place, a new way to do things. 

Aziraphale looked back over the starry water. His first (and only) plan was to join the police and capture Crowley. Not the most practical, but it had a 100% chance of him getting to talk to him. And Aziraphale could still be the good guy. He might not be the best apologizer but being the good guy is something he can definitely do. 

He wasn’t sure how good of a police officer he would/could be. A little practice and he would _probably_ be on his way. He is a fast learner. 

Content with his (not very good but doable) plan, Aziraphale went downstairs for dinner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost 100 kudos?? Thank you!! Didn't think that many people would like my story, so it really does mean the world to me!


	7. A Frozen Snake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My new thing will be when I don't have anything important to say here, I'll recommended a song  
> Today's is Benchwarmer by THOSS

\-- Time Skip: September 18, 1923 --

Crowley was making bank off the Prohibition laws. Her rather large gang (aptly named Eden's Snakes) was the best and most well-known alcohol smuggler in the state. No one, and she meant no one was competition. If some reason competition did appear, they were swiftly dealt with. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t help smaller operations, tempting was _her_ thing. But once they proved a threat, they were quickly bumped off. 

Tonight, after a particularly violent hit, the police had shown up out of nowhere. Of course, this lead to a gun fight. Bullets pummeled the Bently as Crowley waited for an opening. Everyone else she had brought here had made it out safe. (I.e. They made it to the alleyway that leads to an underground tunnel which would take them to the speakeasy.) Her and Bernie, her right hand man were still stuck. (Yeah, they all could have _miraculously_ made it out with nothing but a few shallow bullet wounds, but keeping people alive isn’t in the Being A Demon handbook. ) An irk mark was blatant on Crowley’s face as she reloaded the gun. 

“If we ever get out of here, the pig who squealed is _dead._ ” Crowley snapped. Bernie nodded with a weary look on his face. _How the fuck did they find out about this?_ _The few who couldn't be bought with alcohol took money_. _Someone must have told that new cop,_ she chided herself. She was pulled from her thoughts with a violent shiver. _And it just had to be this bloody cold! 'Oh it's_ _not going to be THAT cold.' HORSESHIT is what it is. Everything today has been nothing but horseshit._

“Boss! They’ve stopped firing, come on!” Bernie tugs at her arm. Crowley pulls herself up and sprints, even in the heels she’s wearing. Bernie stays behind, shooting for every shot taken at them. Someone shouts but she can’t tell if it’s from her side or the cops. She hears a second pair of footsteps close behind. Crowley pulls Bernie in front of her. She pulls her colt and fires blindly, trying to shake them off their tail. But after the second shot, she stops. She seems the blue suit, with a characteristic beige bow tie and blonde hair. 

_Aziraphale…_ Crowley stops dead in her tracks. She knew that she wanted to see Aziraphale but, not like this. She’s frozen, that _cold_ is back, freezing her to the ground. 

Crowley had almost forgotten that Aziraphale has the capacity to be the terrifying principality he is. But as she stares in his cold blue eyes, she remembers clearly. This is an _angel,_ an angel that could smite her, destroy her in a single second. She stares him down the barrel of his gun and he too falters. Both stop to look at each other for the first time in 50-60 years. 

Another bullet flies, barely missing her head. Crowley feels Bernie’s hand pull on her wrist again. She allows herself to be dragged down the dark alleyway. She can’t stop staring into _his_ eyes. She can feel the cold from that day in St. James Park, _from the Fall_ again. 

She isn’t really there as Bernie calls out to her and hauls her along. It isn’t until she’s staring at the mirror in her dressing room that she fully comes to. The lights of the vanity blind her for a second. She can see her heaving shoulders and gasping mouth in the mirror. 

“Boss! Boss? What happened back there?” Bernie sounds panicked and outraged. He kneels right next to her. She hears him but can’t turn her eyes away. She just feels cold. 

“Boss?” He quiets down, a soft look now. A sound finally leaves her throat, a hoarse screaming. She clings to him. Crowley tries to make words come out, but it’s just hiccupping and blabber. Her head is aching and pounding. Bernie wraps his arms around his boss and stands up, not completely aware of what is happening. He rubs her back and lets her sob into his arms.

Both stay in that position for a couple minutes. Once the hiccupping is the only sound Crowley is making, Bernie tries again. 

“Scarlet? What’s going on?” he whispers into her hair. Bernie doesn’t push her after silence follows. She untangles herself from him and turns to look at him. The glasses she wears, even after all this, still cover her eyes. Bernie steps back to let her breathe and crosses his arms. He doesn’t know what to expect. 

“That police officer that kept chasing us.” She doesn’t complete the sentence for a while. Bernie lets his boss take the breaths she needs to talk it out. 

“He,” Again, silence, but not as long, “was, someone I used to be-” She needs to breathe again, and Bernie calmly nods. She continues her deep breaths. 

“Someone I cared deeply for.” Her voice cracks and her shoulders slump. Bernie rubs her back, quietly soothing her. She shrugs to herself dramatically.

“I just never thought I’d ever see him again.” she quietly laughs to herself, trying to elevate the tense air. Bernie nods only to himself. She waves a hand and he stops rubbing her back. Crowley leans back in the chair and wipes away the tears on her face. A sad smile reaches her face.

“Sorry about all that. I try-”

“It’s fine boss. We are all here for you. Me, the boys, the girls, even Rudie. No matter how stupid he is.” That gets a laugh from them both. The smile on her face turns genuine. Bernie returns it and shakes her shoulders. 

Crowley sits back up and smiles to him through the vanity. 

“Thank you Bernie.”

“Of course, boss.” Another shake and he leaves her to herself. 

Crowley takes off the glasses and rubs her eyes. Her serpentine eyes are blood-shot and she can’t help but smile mockingly. Those old feelings she had buried all these years have come back with a vengeance. The memories of her cringey heart eyes and _his_ lovely smile. Her feelings of love and adoration swarm her. She lets them but not for long. Not before she slams them back down with a single thought.

_I’m a horrendous demon, why would he ever want that kind of thing with me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Crowley isn't a very good demon anyway but... he's a dumbass what do you expect???  
> Thank you all for the 100 kudos! It made my week!


	8. Falling into the Snake Pit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some terms from the era defined:  
> Sheba- an attractive woman  
> Moll- Gangster's girl. (Because _OF COURSE_ she isn't the boss, she's just someone's girl. Yes, Yes, keep going Robert, you're doing "great")

Aziraphale during the whole ride to the police station feels shaken up. 

_That was Crowley. It couldn’t have been anyone else. And I was pointing and firing a gun, at her. How horrible is that?_

“Azira? Something wrong? You seem to have known that sheba.” Robert questions Aziraphale. He comes to and notices he’s staring out the car window. He turns to look at Robert and gives a tight lipped smile. 

“Yes I did. At one point.” Aziraphale replies. Robert glances to him with a raised eyebrow.

“How so? I mean, call it ironic, but for her to be a moll and you a copper, something bad must have happened.” He smirks to himself, all cocky, like he figured out some big secret. Aziraphale is stuck in his own head again.

“Yes, it is ‘ironic’. We were once such good friends too.” A wistful tone fills his voice. Robert doesn't seem to notice his hurt voice. 

“Well? Spill. I ain’t asking just for nothing. Unless it’s all hush hush.” Robert’s signature smirk hasn’t left his face. Aziraphale turns his gaze back out the window.

“I guess I can 'spill'. We were always on opposite sides. Him bad-”

“Wait, _he_? I’m asking about the girl, not some other dude you might have talked too.” 

“Oh yes, sorry. Anyway, Her bad, me good. But, somehow, we got along just fine.” Robert feels a history there, more than Aziraphale is letting on. “But one day, I said some truly nasty, terrible things to him-her. She left and it’s been years since I last saw her.” The same tone from earlier comes back, wistful and forlorn. “This was the first time in about maybe 50-60 years.” 

They stop in front of the police station with a screeching halt. “What? You’ve said you’re only about 40 and you’re telling me you’ve known that broad for 50 some years?” Robert has turned his full attention to Aziraphale now that the car is stopped. Aziraphale meets Robert's furrowed brows with his wide eyes. 

“Yes, yes. It’s just felt that long. Truthfully I guess it’s only been 20 years.” Aziraphale looks out the window again as he answers. Robert doesn’t know what his boss's deal is. He is obviously way older than 40 but won’t acknowledge it. He just wishes the dude would own up to it. He shakes his head and focuses back on Aziraphale.

“Whatever you say oldy. Come on, we gotta report back on the injuries.” Both of them get out, Robert walking a few steps ahead of him. 

They fill the reports and both head to their separate stations. As Aziraphale sits in his chair he rubs his eyes in exasperation. 

_I finally get to see him, after all this time, and I can’t even say hello._

_What were you supposed to say? “Hello supposed to be enemy! I know I said some harsh words that can never be unspoken but take me back???”_

_Point taken but, I could have done-said! something._

_Well now you know where they meet at least. Probably along that same street is their base. You might be able to see him at the very least. But not yet, it’s only Tuesday. It would be best to go on a busy night, a Friday. That way you can pull him aside and no one will notice. And, you can’t just go to him after that horrible reintroduction._

Aziraphale takes resolution in this. _Decent plan. Now we wait till Friday._ He busies himself with work, just like he use to busy himself with his books.

\---- Skippity skip ----

_It’s Friday. Finally the day has come._ Aziraphale thinks to himself as he grabs his coat and heads out. He would check on his partner’s desk but he saw him leave around 7:00. (Aziraphale decides to leave at 12.) He shuts out the passing good nights and good days as he heads out. He can only focus on one thing, meeting Crowley again. 

Aziraphale walks down the streets of the same area from earlier. He isn’t in his uniform, he's wearing casual suspenders and a beige button down. A hat covers his face in shadows, so he can't be recognized. The only lights are neon and/or dim, making it barely visible for anyone that doesn’t know the area. 

Aziraphale was no stranger to Crowley’s gang. He knew what the gang’s name was and what they did. Everyone in the police station has had a run in with the gang at least once. Usually to buy booze and/or get to see the pretty dancers at the burlesque lounge. As to which lounge on the block is his is obvious. At least, to those who know his calling card. 

“ _Serpentines?_ ” Aziraphale whispers to himself as he stands at the entrance. He chuckles quietly to himself. _Keeping a theme, even in a different country._ He shakes his head, mystified by Crowley. He knocks on the door and a little hatch slides open. 

“What’s the password?” A gravelly voice asks him. Aziraphale can only roll his eyes. _I'll never know why Crowley thinks THIS is security_. 

“Eden’s Snakes.” Aziraphale was pretty proud of himself for knowing the password. (Okay he didn’t actually know, but what else would it be?)

The hatch is closed and Aziraphale can feel himself begin to sweat. _It’s happening. I'm so close to finally getting to see Crowley again! We’ll talk it out and everything will-_

That’s the last thing he remembers thinking before he blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yee, we finally reached the chapters I liked writing. Not to say I didn't like writing 1-6, its just that stuff starts picking up. And I can't wait for you all to read it! I hope everyone reading has a good rest of their day!  
> Fun Fact: The password to the club is actually Angel Cake.  
> (Anything snake/demon related would be too obvious.)


	9. The Meeting in the Fog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Crowley does have a sort of panic attack near the end of the chapter. Proceed cautiously, if need be.  
> Summary in case you don't want to read that part. Crowley gets overwhelmed and upset after seeing Aziraphale again. She lets her emotions out, not before cramming all the nice and hopeful thoughts of Aziraphale back away. She eventually pulls herself together and goes to drink the pain away.

“So, angel, never thought we’d meet like this.”

Aziraphale comes to and isn’t entirely sure where he is. He’s head is pounding. The only light in the room is the vanity lights and neon red lightning from the ceiling. A faint smoke smell fills Aziraphale’s nose. It takes him a while to even look up, the pain is almost unbearable. 

Aziraphale meets Crowley’s gaze from his position, which he concludes, must be the floor. 

“I know we haven’t talked in a few decades, but what can I say,” Crowley interrupts the sentence to take a drag from her cigarette. Her chin is held high as she peers down at him. Aziraphale notices that she’s staring at him with golden eyes. “We didn’t leave last time on the best note.”

Aziraphale now decides to see what state he’s in. His button down seems clean, besides a few dirt smudges. His hands are tied behind his back and so are his legs. He faintly feels something stinging on his cheek. He sits on his knees on a carpet, it’s color hard to make out in the light. 

His head jerks up when the cigarette smacks him under his chin. His head is kept up by the piercing glare of his (once) best friend. (And, due to the cigarette under his chin.) 

“I still deserve more than the silent treatment, don’t you think? You called me names, not the other way around, _angel_ .” The once fond nickname is poison to him. Aziraphale feels as if he’s been spit on. _Which would be an accurate description to the pain I must’ve of put Crowley through._

“You’re right Crowley. I’m sorry.” Crowley doesn’t lean back in her chair. Her hunched frame is cobra-like. 

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. Now, tell me what you’re doing in this kind of territory. You’ve always been too much of a goody-two-shoes to break rules.” Aziraphale flinches but can’t pull away from her gorgeous hypnotic eyes. _She deserves an answer. Or at least an explanation to something I’ve done._

“Well you’re correct. I’m not in a gang. I came here looking for you. After what happened at the stand off.” Aziraphale replies. Crowley digs the cigarette even harder into Aziraphale’s neck. He winces. Neither remove their eyes from the other. 

“Hmm, I can’t let you go. Pitiful. I’d kill you but we both know the paperwork that comes with that.” Crowley recoils back for a drag of her cigarette, her gaze still as intense. Aziraphale breaks first and stares at his lap. 

He feels a little sorrowful as he really takes in the situation he’s in. He’d smile or laugh at the remark if this was anything close to how it usually goes. Them dining together at a fancy restaurant, a bottle between them for a temptation/blessing well done. _Not… whatever this is._

“I p-promise I won’t tell _anyone_ where you guys are.” Crowley smirks at his naivete.

“Like that’ll do shite. Almost everyone at your little police station knows. They come here every day for the booze. And besides, why should I _ever_ trust you again?” Crolwey’s eyes boor spotlights on Aziraphale. He can’t bear to look up at her. 

Aziraphale does catch something in his peripheral, Crowley’s snake stilettos. _One, fitting. Two, running must be difficult in those shoes, unless she’s mira-_

Aziraphale’s thoughts disappears into the black dots swarming his vision. He doesn’t notice himself falling sideways and hitting the carpeted floor. He doesn’t hear the door close or the lock clicking. But he does pass out to the smell of smoke. 

On the opposite side of the door, Crowley has collapsed. She wraps her arms around herself as she leans against the door. Her eyes snap shut as she _tries_ to ground herself. Her shivering won’t stop. The head-knocking of her chattering teeth won’t stop. The flood of emotions from seeing him again won’t stop. The waves of nausea and sickness won’t stop. None of it, none of it, will STOP.

The flashbacks of St. James Park, the place that got them here, won’t stop either. An encasing cold races to entrap her. Her wings come out, trying to give her comfort. They fail and the shivering only gets worse. She feels like she’s going to throw up.

_You’re horrible. You are disgusting for loving him, for believing he loved you back. Like you ever had a chance._ She can barely distinguish the cold inside her and the dim red lights of the hallway. It feels like the cold is trying to discorporate her. She squeezes herself, trying to force her eyes open. In the past 60 years she had gotten “good” at repressing the _hopeful and good_ thoughts and emotions that came with Aziraphale. But tonight, after confronting him and being so close to him, it brought all those feelings back.

“STOP!” The echo is her only company in the dingy hallway. Her eyes finally open. Her vision swims but she can _see_ the hallway. Her wings finally seem to reach her senses. She leans back into them and breathes. 

_1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7…_

She looks again at the faded red lights. Her wings soothe her and the teeth chattering slowly stops. 

_1... 2…_ _3… 4… 5…_

The nausea isn’t gone but it isn’t gut punching. Crowley toils to stands up. She eventually gets to her legs and leans against the door, white-knuckling the handle. 

_Again, 1… 2… 3… 4…_

She’s still cold but doesn’t feel sick anymore. The thoughts of anything nice with Aziraphale have again been crammed into a small box in the corner of her mind. Finally composed enough, Crowley straightens herself up and puts her wings away. She takes a deep sigh of exasperation.

“Satan, I need to nap for a century after that.” Crowley whispers to herself. She heads for the exit to the bar. “I also need a few drinks.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that inspired me to write this book actually! I originally wrote it based off one of my drawings, but then I feel in love with the idea for the story. And here we are! Thank you all so much for reading! Have a good rest of your day.


	10. "Why Didn't You?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song today is Mama's Gun by Glass Animals

Crowley is sitting at the bar, cradling a glass of hard liquor. She isn’t looking at anyone or anything. Her gaze is lost in her reflection in the glass.

_Bloody hell, what am I gonna do with him. He thinks he can just waltz back into my life with that million dollar smile and say, “I came here looking for you,” and everything is going to go back to normal? No, of bloody course not. I should have knocked that head clean off his shoulders._

She grumbles into the drink and downs the rest of it. She waves for another. Doris, a 20-something year old bartender working under Crowley, walks over and gives her another drink.

“Boss, you okay? You drinking a lot tonight.” Even with the noise from everyone else in the lounge, it can’t drown out the sympathy/care in Doris’s voice. Crowley shakes her head.

“I’m fine dear. Just,” a sigh and Doris leans on the counter, “we got the new cop.” Doris’s eyes are blown wide. 

“REAlly?” She quiets herself down and leans in close. Crowley notices her hand are shaking when she sets them on the counter. “Boss! What are you going to do?” Crowley smirks, and takes a sip of her drink.

“Nothing you need to worry about. I’ll get him hooked in no time. That is sort of my thing.” Crowley's eyes and raised eyebrow meet Doris's puzzled look. “Don’t think too much on it. Go back to serving our patrons. Alright girl?” She isn’t completely convinced, her raised brow and straight lips clue Crowley in. But Doris shakes her head (mostly wipes off the concerned look on her face) and straightens herself up.

“Alrighty boss, I’ll keep this between us.” They both nod to one another and Doris goes back to serving the others at the bar. Crowley takes another sip with a relaxed sigh.

“Scar-Boss!” Another familiar voice grabs Crowley’s attention. She turns to Bernie and he displays an easy smile. 

“Boss! You’re back." Bernie grabs a seat next to Crowley. She smiles back at but it's not as easy. “So, how did it go?” (To Crowley, he sounds too enthusiastic about her reply.) Her smile contorts into a sneer.

“He said he came back _just_ to talk to me. Hah! What kind of fool does he take me for? Like I’d fall for his horseshit.” Bernie notices she can’t look at him as she says this. Her shoulders are hunched high and she takes a big drink. "I would have killed the bastard then and there if he kept going. Probably should of in hindsight." She takes a glimpse at him. Bernie nods, his eyes on the glass a bartender gave him. 

“Well… why didn’t you?” (He meant it as _I know how much you hate him, so why didn't you?_ but Crowley hears it as _why didn't you have the guts to do it, boss?_ )

She falls quiet. He feels like he's approaching an angry rattle snake. He sneaks a glance at her. He comes face to face with Crowley's fierce scowl. The sneer is prominent on her face. 

“Don’t talk to me like that, bastard!” She shouts. It doesn’t overpower the guys watching the show but a few patrons glance at them. “I can do whatever I want to the captive when I want to." She takes a sip but her anger doesn't disappear. “Besides, I want him to suffer. Death is too nice for that fucker.” Bernie flinches a bit. She turns her body to the stage to distract herself. And Bernie turns to his drink.

“Yea right, sorry boss.” Bernie mumbles and downs the glass. Crowley isn’t looking at him, not even facing him. He feels like a failure, or a disappointment. She sighs loudly and he turns to her. Another sip and she turns to him. 

“Go talk to him. Rough him up a bit, smack him around, but do not, under ANY circumstances, kill him.” After every pause she moves closer to him. Crowley is staring at him with a fire blazing in her eyes. At the end of the statement, they're standing almost nose to nose. He feels his face heat up and his breath quickens.

_He always was a sucker for danger._

“If anyone, and I mean ANYONE gets to kill him. It _will be me._ ” He can’t tear his gaze away, he’s lost in her eyes. She recoils back. With another sip, she stomps off.

Bernie is stuck half leaning back in his seat. His breaths are as quick as if she was still standing over him. It takes him a few minutes to come back to Earth. He shakes his head and calls for another. He quickly throws it down his throat, trying to erase his earlier feelings. With a sigh to clear his head, he heads off to talk to the cop. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout out to Catwithasword and ScreamingAtMyFandom for all the comments! And big thanks to all the people such as, assvictoriam and ahhhh, for the nice comments! Y'all commenting always makes my day.


	11. An Odd Thought/Feeling or Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or as I like to call it, Aziraphale gets punched 2. Electric Boogaloo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's song is White Lies by Max Frost

Aziraphale, again, wakes up with black dots swarming his vision. _Those heels sure are dangerous._ He winces after feeling a sharp pound on the left side of his face. _A strong kick to the temple, I guess._ The lights are still as dim as before, _so that’s nice at least._ His head is swimming in a thick fog of confusion. When he is finally able to examine his surroundings, a burly man with brown hair and a strong jaw is staring at him. 

“AAAAH!” The man's cold expression doesn't change. Aziraphale flies back but doesn’t fall backwards. He’s a little shaken up and notices he is eye level with the man and isn’t lying on the carpet. He looks down and sees himself sitting in a wooden chair. His legs and arms are tied to said chair, rather than behind his back. A worried look crosses his face, jumbled from having moved positions. 

“What?..... What is..” The spot on his head pounds again and he trails off. He leans forward in the chair, taking quivering breaths. He tries desperately to grasp for a coherent thought. 

“What is this place?” The man finishes his sentence for him. Aziraphale looks at him, (more like the three of him). He’s a man of muscle it seems. He has burly arms, thick brown hair, and blue eyes. _Very nice blues eyes._ His face is all squares and hard edges. _Like Crowley a little._

_Oh, he spoke to me. How rude to not reply and just stare at the young man._

“Yes… yes, you are correct…. Where?” Aziraphale clenches his teeth at another twinge. He momentarily can't think of anything but the pain. He has to remind himself that someone is talking to him.

“... _erpentines._ A burlesque lounge/speakeasy. You’re in the star girl’s dressing room. However, she’s a little busy tonight.” 

“What does this have to do with Crowley?" A groan leaves his throat. "Where is she… anyway? Wasn’t she just here?” Aziraphale is trying to collect his thoughts. _This timeline isn’t making sense. Where is Crowley?_

“I’m afraid I don’t know her. My boss, who seems to know you pretty well, is named Scarlet.” The man leans back in the chair with his arms crossed. His eyes study the bloody and bruised cop in front of him.

(He isn’t sure why the boss wants to keep this softie alive. He wouldn’t help the business at all. With how soft he looks, he couldn’t lift the crates. Scarlet said he has a strong moral code, so he probably couldn’t even bartend.)

“No, the woman that was… just here." _Thump!_ He throws his head back to lean against the chair. _Those heels are gonna kill me._ "Her name… Crowley, please may I speak to her?” Aziraphale looked into the man’s eyes, pleading. It has no effect on the man’s cold gaze.

“That’s not her name, bucko. If you ever wanna talk to her again, her name is Scarlet. Learn it.” His arms tense. Aziraphale was about to roll his eyes before another _Thump!_ scatters his thoughts.

_Finefinefine_.

“Fine, this Scarlet, where is she currently? It’s urgent I speak to her-” 

“ _You_ are the captive here. You don’t have any grounds to ask for shit. So, what’s your deal, cop?” The cut off (and another pound of his head) silences Aziraphale.

_The young man is right. Aagh! My head! How hard did she kick?_ Aziraphale leans forward again. _I can barely keep my head on my shoulders._

It’s in this pause as he looks at the man he notices a big snake curling up his arm. 

“Excuse me. What is with that snake on your arm?” _It can’t be real, a marking of some kind? Like henna? But, it can’t be that either._

“Focus! Answer the questions first. What are you doing here? And why do you wanna speak to my boss?” The man leans in and points a finger at him. (He sounds protective and defensive. Like he's- _Thump!_ ) Aziraphale looses that thought. He pulls together what he heard the man say and tries to respond to that.

“...I-I came here looking for this Scarlet. I wanted to talk out our past together.” The man huffs to himself. He too leans back in his chair. (Aziraphale _can't help but notice how nice the man's muscles look in the shirt. By Hell below he- THUMP!)_

“What past? The past that caused my boss to break down crying after seeing your shit face?” The words throw salt in Aziraphale’s wound. He feels himself stiffen his upper lip. His teeth clench his bottom lip and his throat seems to burn. 

“I-I admit.” His voice cracks and he has to stop himself. He has to push through, _to see Crowley faster._ “I-I wasn’t v-very nice to her then. But I’ve come to make things right.” The man’s brows are heavily furrowed but he wears a smirk. ( _By Satan he looks good with-THUMP!)_

“Well, I think you’ve fucked that up enough haven’t you? The boss deserves someone better than you, softie.” And Aziraphale feels the oddest thing, _Love. A wave of love._

“What’s with that look on your face?” The man studies Aziraphale's face. And then the feeling fizzles out, squished under what must have been shock. But Aziraphale can’t shake the feeling, it was _love. Love! (THUMP! Okay, that's seriously getting on my last nerve. Let_ _'s miracle that away.)_ With a snap and little shake of the head, Aziraphale sits tall in the chair. He also comes eye to eye with the man in front of him. _Good riddance to that terrible headache._

“I-" _Oh how am I going to say this? Might as well say it as it is._ "I felt something odd. Do you, by any chance love Scarlet?” This sends the man flying back in his chair. His face the color of Crowley’s hair. The man stutters and starts to scratch his arm.

“What the fuck is your deal!? You don’t got any right to ask about my feelings!” The man stands up and shoves a finger in Aziraphale’s face. “I’m the one asking questions! Not you, so shut up and listen!” The man’s rage flares in Aziraphale’s face and it’s obvious _he was on to something._

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I just felt a big wave of love when you spoke about your boss. She is indeed a lovely woman.” Aziraphale says it with the biggest ( ~~shit-eating)~~ grin.

A punch meets Aziraphale’s face. The chair and Aziraphale plunged to the side.

His face slams onto the floor.

His breathing is labored and he can’t see straight anymore. He thinks the man might be talking to him, but his hearing has to wait for his brain to catch up. He is dazed and confused for the… _third time today?_ He passes out again, the smoke smell the last thing he remembers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Aziraphale doesn't actually feel anything romantic/sexual for Bernie. He is delirious and is mostly projecting his feelings for Crowley onto the man with the sharp features.  
> Thanks for reading this far! Hope you have a good rest of your day!


	12. Irene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went out today and got the og and tv guide good omens books! The tv guide book is a treat!  
> Today's song is the piano version of How Did You Love by Shinedown

Aziraphale isn’t sure how long he was passed out this time.

While he didn’t take another kick to the temple, the punch to his chin certainly didn't feel good. _Agh, how more times will I be punched/kicked? I do hope that I don't gain a scar or anything of the sort._

(Not that he couldn’t get rid of it but, if they could be avoided it would be greatly appreciated.)

He made out through the black dots swarming his vision that his head was lolled forward. He stares blankly at his lap, seeing as he didn't want to do anything else. The throbbing pain on the left side of his face was downright nasty.

Finally, after some time, he was able to miracle the pain away. Aziraphale straightens up in the chair to look around. He could see the room was surrounded in a neon red light, mainly coming from above him. He looked in front of him, to see his own reflection - _Huh, the chair is upright again -_ in the decorative vanity in front of him _._ Maybe vanity wasn't the right word.

The vanity had three large mirrors and the lights (mini chandeliers of golden light was more accurate) dangled next to the mirror. The desk was littered with various bottle of hairspray, makeup, nail polish, and every cosmetic item under Heaven. The chair for the vanity was pulled off to the side. It was ornate, a throne really. Carvings of snakes - _there’s that theme again, wily old serpent-_ curved around the legs and arms. The pillow in the chair was a stunning red against the black chair. _The colors of red, black and gold seem to be another theme of hers._

_All Crowley’s favorite colors of course._ He smiled regretfully to himself. He really did miss Crowley. _That’s why I’m here. No need to mope over it, I’ll talk to her again…… Eventually._

He turned his attention back to his surroundings. Due to the light in the room, it was hard to tell the color of the walls and carpet. But, he would bet they were the same red as the light above his head. He could make out the posters for _Serpentines_ and some of the girls that must work here. One person stuck out the most, and was on most of the posters.

_Crowley_ was one of the show girls. 

Azirphale had to admit to himself, she looked great on the poster, even with the bad lighting. _Like sin… That was probably the look she was going for. She's pulling it off delightfully well._

Aziraphale felt his face heat up.

_Was he that desperate!?_

With little mobility he had in the wooden chair, he turned his to look over his shoulders. Her, what Azirapahle assumed was, wardrobe sat neatly in the left corner. It was the same wood as her chair, and with the same snake designs. A nice vase of plants sat in the right corner, with a couch next to it. What sat in the middle of the of the two objects was up to his imagination. That time to think didn’t last long. The door to the exact left of Aziraphale opened. 

A little girl, about maybe 11 or older, walked in. She was short, with long brown hair and a black mini trench coat buttoned all the way up. She had long black leggings and a low strap shoe. She came in with a little bottle of something, cloths and he wasn’t sure what else. He saw she had a little box with something starting with a B. She closed the door behind her and walked behind him. Once she had set down all the stuff in her arms, she walked back to the door and flipped a switch. 

By the time Aziraphale’s eyes adjusted to the new light _-that wasn’t red!-_ the little girl had pulled the ornate chair close up to Aziraphale’s face. This time, instead of flying back in the chair, he only slightly jumped in shock. The little girl didn't seem to notice. 

“Hello sir! I’m Irene! I’m gonna be checking your wounds to see if you're bleeding really bad somewhere.” Her smile was big and toothy. Aziraphale weakly smiled back. 

“Oh, hello Irene. I’m-”

“I know who you are! You’re that cop that Miss Scarlet doesn’t like! She and my older brother told me to say as little as possible to you.” She pulled away from him. Her excited face turned to one of confusion and she put a finger under her chin. She took a second to intensely study his face. “I don’t got a clue why. You look super nice. And soft!” Her toothy grin came back. Aziraphale felt like he got whiplash from that exchange alone. But, he couldn’t say he wasn’t endeared to her. 

“That’s nice Irene, but I-”

“Nope! I am examining you! So, you must be quiet for me.” 

She went silent as she examined his face. She grabbed his chin and moved it to the side to look to his left cheek. She nodded to herself and moved behind him again. Aziraphale stayed silent and let her wipe down the cut on his cheek. 

“It seems you mostly sustained bruises from your injuries. However, you got this nasty cut on your cheek. I’ll have a word with my brother if he thinks hurting anyone, even a cop, is good.” Aziraphale was even more endeared _. How sweet, of course Crowley would mostly keep a young girl out of whatever this business is. Ah, her and her soft spot for children._ (It was definitely a nice contrast to the man from before.) 

Once she finished applying.. Something to his cheek she broke the silence with, “Give me a minute, I gotta get you more ice packs, sir. Speaking of, what's your name?”

“Aziraphale Fell dear.” With an answer, a giggling Irene sprinted out of the room, leaving the door opened. The clean light in the room spilled into the red hallway. Aziraphale could faintly hear the chatter of the other girls. He couldn’t hear much but expletives and words he never heard together smashed into a sentence. _How does Irene handle being here? She seems so young as well._

Irene sprints back into the room with hands full of those ‘ice packs’ she mentioned earlier. 

“Here Mr. Azira!” Aziraphale was a little taken aback by the nickname. It wasn’t bad, just something he'd have to get use to. _I don't think I'll be leaving this chair anytime soon._

"Excuse me, Irene. What did you put on my cheek?" Irene whipped around with her mouth to the floor.

"..... A Band-Aid???" Aziraphale gives a nod. Irene stares at him a little more before she sets the 'ice packs' on a table behind. (He thinks at least.) She applied the pack to the area where Crowley had kicked him. Once it was wrapped up to stay to his head, she reached under the vanity. A door open, leading to a little freezer. She stuffed the remaining packs in there. Irene turned to him, that toothy grin on her face. 

“Miss Scarlet won’t mind. She may seem scary but she’s actually really nice. She’s the one that actually taught me how to take care of wounds. I asked her how she learned all this and she said it was her little secret. Someday, she’s gonna tell me, I just know it.” Irene wasn’t really looking at Aziraphale as she rattled on. She moved around, glancing at him. She ended the sentence by plopping down in the chair in front of him.

“That’s lovely Irene. I must ask, how did you come to know Miss Scarlet? You seem quite young.” Aziraphale felt like he was stumbling through this interaction. As endeared to Irene as he was, he had no idea when it came to talking to children. _Crowley was always better with kids than me._ A sad smile slipped onto his lips. 

“Hey! I am not that-” her energetic rambling stopped. “Mr. Azira? Are you okay?” Her voice filled with sympathy and she held his hand. (Difficult task since it was strapped to the chair) Aziraphale quickly wiped the look from his face, replacing it with a small smile. 

“I’m fine Irene. You remind me of an old friend. I was very close to him.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Her face was sad as well, and she squeezed his hand. He squeezed it back.

“Thank you dear, it's quite alright.” He sighed. “Go on, how did you meet her?” She pulled her hand back into her lap, her gaze glued to them. If his arms weren’t still tied to the chair, he would have comforted her. 

“.... Miss Scarlet and my brother said I shouldn’t tell a cop anything about the gang. No matter who they are.” She mumbled. Aziraphale nodded to himself.

“Don’t worry Irene. I wouldn’t tell anyone what you told me.” She looks at him with furrowed brown eyes. 

“You promise? You pinkie promise?” Aziraphale nodded, not entirely sure what he was getting into.

"Yes but, how do I do it?" Irene is once again shocked at his obliviousness. But she pulls the chair up and grabs his hand. 

“Raise your pinkie and we’ll wrap ‘em around each other, like this.” She demonstrates with her own hands first. Aziraphale nods. So, they wrap their pinkies around each other. 

“Repeat after me, pinkie promise that you won’t tell ANYONE what I tell you about Miss Scarlet or Eden's Snakes.” He repeats after her. Then, she sits back with a smug smile.

“Now, if you break the promise, I get to cut your pinkie off!” She doesn’t give Aziraphale time to react before jumping to the next sentence. “It was nice meeting you Mr. Azira! I better get going, I’ll see you later to change the ice packs!” She sprints out of the chair, flips the lights to the dim neon red lights from before and closes the door. 

Aziraphale can only sit shocked.

_Are all kids like that?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since I have to start going to bed earlier for school, I'll update in the morning and not the middle of the night. Don't worry! This fic won't be orphaned! I plan to write this out to the end!  
> Have a good rest of your day!


	13. Through the Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my chapter names sound like one shot titles. It be like that sometimes.  
> Also yeah, this chapter is really short but as someone on the internet once said, you gotta keep your angst chapter short and sweet.

Crowley sits in her room, the cigarette never leaving her hand and a glass not far from her sight. She sat on her bed for two days straight. She can’t bring herself to leave the security of her room. She sits in her feathery and silky bathrobe. 

_Like wings. I wonder what it would feel like to feel his wings._

She reaches for her glass and downs all of it. She sets down her cigarette in the ashtray. She rubs her eyes and hunches over the edge of the bed.

_By heaven, I can’t even leave this room. I truly am pathetic._

She feels the tears start to pick at her eyes. “Fuck off.” She grinds her teeth together and presses her hands into her eyes. (They only momentarily retreat.)

“Scarlet? We need to talk.” Bernie’s voice meets Crowley’s ears. She ignores it, grabbing and taking another smoke of her cig. 

“Scarlet, it’s been two days. I know how much that cop meant to you but,” (Bernie momentarily wonders if he should continue. He does anyway.) “You haven’t been on staged in awhile, one week exactly. The people that come here for you are asking questions and threatening to stop coming. I-”

Bernie is greeted with the face of a snake about to strike. 

“Of bloody course I haven’t been out there! I would have last Friday but that rat decided to show up!” (Crowley's tone is laced with the most deadly poison.) “If you can’t tell I haven’t really been in the mood to dance! I bloody broke down after I first saw him and” she’s gasping for air. _Damn it! I need harder liquor._ “A-and I haven-n’t” She crumbles. Her earlier fire has been smothered under her wave of emotions.

Bernie walks into her room and wraps his arms around her. She shoves him away. She sits on the edge of the bed, gripping the edge. Bernie stands to the side and looks away from her. It takes a few minutes but she regains her composure. Bernie turns to face her. She’s already grabbing for another bottle. He shakes his head to himself and turns back to the door. 

“Sorry boss. You and I know how much this place means to everyone. I couldn’t bare anything happening to Irene and everyone else.” A heavy silence weighs down on them. He hears her sigh. 

“I couldn’t either.” The silence continues to stretch between them. Both of them seem stuck in time, awashed in sadness. Her sigh quivers this time, the tears threatening to break out again. 

“I’ll do tonight. Move him to another room, an empty one.” The exchange ends there. Time starts again. Bernie leaves and Crowley has to bite her lip to keep her eyes clear. _Pathetic liquor can’t even do it’s damn job._


	14. Striking Snake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the fight scene sucks. As you can probably tell, I write characters crying.... not fighting.  
> Creeper

Aziraphale wakes up in a bed this time. Not a very nice bed, but it’s better than the wooden chair he’s woken up in. It’s bare, but the essentials to even call it a bedroom are there. The light above is dim, as most lights in the place seem to be. But in the corner of the room, Irene sits in the chair. She’s reading a book, next to the floor lamp by the chair. _The Story of Doctor Dolittle._

_And if my memory serves me, this is the third time she’s reread it._

He sits up in the bed, his hand comes up to rub his aching head. Aziraphale realizes his hands are free. “Huh?” Irene’s eyes tear away from the page and meet his face. That toothy grin encompasses blinds him. She sets the book down excitedly and races to sit next to him. 

“Hi Mr. Azira! It’s nice to see you up!” Her energetic energy has already tired Aziraphale (and he just woke up). But he can’t help but smile at her. 

“Thank you Irene. It’s lovely to see you too but, why am I in this new room?” He looks around, noticing a little cooler next to the chair Irene was sitting in. _Do I really need to wear more ice packs?_

“I’m not even really sure either. I was going to go meet you but Bernie stopped me and said you weren’t there. He also said I didn’t need to see you anymore, so I punched him. That got him to bring me to you.” Aziraphale chuckles at the story. Over the two days Irene had come to take care of him, he had learnt much about her. Her love for her older biological brother, who he finally learned was named Bernie, books, fighting, and of course Miss Scarlet. 

Even after the two days they had talked, he still had learnt little on Crowley’s life here in America. Every time he prodded, he was promptly reminded that she was willing to chop his pinkie off. Of course he didn’t need it but he would rather not lose it.

“Which is perfect,” she stated, her eyes wide and bright. “Since they moved you, that means she doesn’t care about you enough. Miss Scarlet may be super smart but even she has a limit.” Aziraphale was a little sad at, ‘ _she doesn’t care about you enough’._ “See, somehow she knows whatever you’re doing. No. Matter. What. Even if you’re on the opposite side of the building and really _really_ hungry and just want _one_ of Doris’s special chocolate chip cookies. ( _That was oddly specific)_ But, if she’s moved you here, she doesn’t care enough to listen!” As she talked her movements were dramatic and gripped Aziraphale’s attention _._ He smiled at her and nodded along. 

“That’s very smart of you to realize Irene. So, that means…?” Her mouth opened in shock.

“Mr. Azira! I thought you would have guessed! I can finally tell you about Miss Scarlet!” He’s a little worried about why she’s so excited to tell him. But he is finally going to be learning about Crowley’s time in America. “Oh gosh, I don’t even know where to start! She’s just so cool! Where do you wanna start?” She’s completely facing him and her enthusiasm is not missed on him. 

“Well, one question I’ve been wondering is how did she come to run this place?” Irene’s smile lit up the room. She stood up, bouncing on her heels as she prepared herself (mostly him) for a story.

“OH, it was the bee’s knees!! It was the sweetest sugar, It was-”

“Irene?” His stern voice cut her off. She calmed down, just enough so she could actually tell the story. 

“Sorry! Okay. So one day,”

-Time: December 30th 1919-

The air in the small meeting room was hot and electrifying. Crowley had been in the gang for almost two years, mostly working as a bootlegger and get-away-driver. She did more important stuff under the nose of the boss. But she wanted to do more. That and Prohibition was just about to start. She wasn’t going to let this old geezer get his hands on the money they could make. The money wouldn’t go to buying the gang food or a better hide out. It’d be spent on expensive cigars and the pretty ladies down the street. Crowley’s new family deserved better, _so much better_. 

The bastard (He didn’t deserve to be called _boss_ ) stared down at Crowley from the head of the table. The four most important people to the man sat next to him at the horizontal table. Bastard smoked his cigar and his smile grew at Crowley. 

“So, doll, why did you demand a meeting with everyone? I have important matters to attend to.” The man sat back in his chair, cigar hanging from his lips. 

“I want to be the new boss.” Everyone in the room gasped. Worried glances were exchanged from person to person. The room could conduct electricity. A moment of silence passed. Then, Bastard started to howl with laughter. Then the other four at the table nervously laughed too. No one seemed at ease besides Crowley and the man at the center of the table. 

Through his dying laughter Bastard said, “That’s, That’s funny girlie. You. You honestly think you can be the boss?” He chuckled. Crowley knew he wanted to make her change her mind, by laughing off her demand. But she stood strong. Her hands were perched on her hips and her legs stood apart. When the bastard noticed she hadn’t changed her stance, his face turned serious. 

“Listen girlie, you understand what that means right?” Crowley smiled at him, like she _didn’t_ already know what she’s getting into. 

“Yes. I have to fight at least three of the boys sitting at your table.” She calmly stated. The atmosphere grew gut-wrenching. Yes, everyone loved Scarlet and knew her well but, _was she strong enough to fight off three guys? In rapid succession?_

_I didn’t stay up late training for nothing._

“Nuh-uh. That’s not how this goes for _girls_.” _Bastard thinks he can belittle me._ “You’ll have to fight off all four of them and then _me.”_ Crowley’s grip on her hips tightens. She’d kill him on the spot right now, but _I want this the right way. I’ll terrify any of those guys who think they can do better than me with these fights._

The girls start murmuring about how _disgusting that man is._ While most of the guys are placing bets on how long she’s gonna last. (The boys who get caught placing the bets are quickly slapped.)

“Alright _boss,_ ” She spits. “Bring it on.” Bastard still doesn’t seem to understand she’s dead serious. 

“If you say so. Let’s move this to the main stage. It’ll give you time to think.” His tone of voice is condescending and dripping with insincerity. 

Everyone moved to the door leading to the main stage of the abandoned burlesque lounge. Crowley was the first to make it to the stage, tapping her feet in anticipation. Everyone had grabbed a seat somewhere in the large room. They all had a good view of the stage. Crowley was nervous even if she knew she had a damn good shot at winning. Bastard and his four lackeys got up on the stage through the west stairs. 

The first boy to come face to face with her was a baby-faced blondie by the name of Ronald. They both stood, fist raised and feet apart, ready to strike. 

“We all know the rules to these fights. But I’m making a few changes.” She can feel his glare on her, but she only stares at Ronald. His eyes flicker to Bastard, his feet are bouncing with nervous energy. “Scarlet, if you lose this fight, you will dance.” A spark spreads through the air. _I’ll be hung huh? Of course he doesn’t want someone shaking things up. Especially a girl._ Crowley doesn’t flinch, her eyes unmoving. Ronald looks to him. _He’s taken aback._

“Boss! We can’t kill her!” It isn’t a second later before he’s dead. He falls over the stage and onto the ground. Crowley didn’t even hear the shot. Cries of shock and despair fill the air. Crowley straightens up. She wants to run to the poor kid and check on him. But she knows better, he was dead before he hit the ground. She’s horrified, but she can’t show it. _Or I’ll be shot next._

“Joseph. You’re up.” Bastard uses the gun to push the poor scared kid forward. His eyes and mouth are wide. 

“Now, Miss Scarlet. Are you sure that’s the outfit you want to wear?” His voice is patronizing. Crowley looks down to study her outfit. She’s wearing a loose knee length dress with heels, and her glasses on her face. (Crowley isn’t the boss yet, so she’s still keeping her eyes hidden from everyone.)

“Yes. I know what I want to wear.” Her and the boy get into position, fists raised and legs apart. The man only chuckles at her. 

“Start.”

The two circle each other for a bit. The boy is still shocked that he saw someone so close to him get shot ruthlessly. Crowley watches the boys eyes, waiting for them to glass over. It doesn’t take long. 

They didn’t even move the kids body. 

So when Joseph turns to look at his friend, Crowley lunges forward. Her legs send a swift kick to the back of his legs and he falls. Before he can get up, Crowley gets him on his back. His arms are pinned behind his back as Crowley straddles him. He lets out a strangled groan, squirming in embarrassment. 

She looks to Bastard with a smug grin. “One done.” The man gives a reluctant nod. Crowley gets off Joseph and offers a handshake. The poor boy is red and can’t even look at her. He stumbles off the stage and sits with some other guys. 

The next guy (a middle-aged man by the name of Harold) is the next to fight her. He was more muscular than Joseph. He was shorter too, but not by much. 

Both get into position. Crowley can smell her sweat and the gunpowder from earlier. 

“Start.” (He’s trying to stay cool and collected. But his anger seeps through.)

This time, her opponent comes rushing towards her. She waits till he’s about to tackle her to land a punch to his face. The crack from his nose echoes. He stumbles and Crowley goes for a left kick to his face. The heel connects with his temple and there is another audible crack. When he’s about to fall, she grabs his arms. She slams him onto the ground. Her heel find his face. His arms are twisted behind his back, far enough to hurt but not break. He cries out, his tears mixing with his bloody nose. 

“I yield! I yield! Get off me crazy!” She looks to the Bastard with another smug grin. He rolls his eyes and Crowley gets off Harold. She again offers her hand, but he turns his nose up in disgust. He stomps off the stage. The steam coming from his ears is almost visible. 

The last one is someone she talked to before she called the meeting, Bernie Macintosh. A good friend and accomplice in many of Crowley’s schemes. They shared a friendly smile while they both got into position. This would arguably have been the hardest fight, had they not become such good friends. Bastard only had himself to thank for that. 

“Start!” (He’s not trying to hide his anger. Or his anxiety.)

Both of them circle each other. They can’t help the jabs and laughs that past between them.

“Come on Bernie. Come on, hit me. Hit me.” She teases him. Bernie fakes a swing and Crowley, elegantly dodges it. 

“If you want me to hit you, you gotta stay still.” He jokes back. She makes a puzzled face for a second before she grins at him. 

“Nah, that wouldn’t be as fun though.” 

“Stop chattering, chuckleheads! You’re here to fight!” Bastard shouts, his face a faint red. Both of them roll their eyes.

“You heard the man.” With a light-hearted smile, Bernie lands a punch to her gut. Crowley almost loses her footing. Bernie goes for another hit, but she blocks it with her arms. With a quick push both of them are circling again. 

“You got me there, Bern. Didn’t think you were one for hitting women.” She smirks at him, slowly walking closer. His warm smile is still on his face.

“Oh no, I’m not. But you know the rules.” He gives a simple shrug and she lands a punch to his face. She punches him again as he stumbles. She goes for another one but Bernie punches back. She smells the blood leaving her mouth before she sees it. He tackles her. She saves herself from hurting her head by latching onto him. When they make it to the ground, she knees him in the groin. 

He isn’t leaning over her anymore and that gives the opportunity for a hard punch to his teeth. That gets him lying on his back. She scrambles up to straddle him and grab his arms, which she successfully does. She pins them over his head. His face is bloody and the smell of sweat is potent. 

“Good job Scarlet. First time you’ve won one of these matches.” They both chuckle.

“I think you were going a little easy on me, but I’ll take it.” They smile at each other. Bastard grimaces to himself. 

“Get off of him, you harlot!” Crowley rolls her eyes and does so. This time when she reaches out for a handshake, she gets one back. He mouths good luck to her and she nods. He climbs off the stage to sit with his buddies. 

Crowley turns around and is met with Bastard’s cold stare. She freezes for a second. _The stare is familiar._

_No, now is not the time. I’m going to win. For everyone who deserves better than this pig._

She stands ready. She’s going to win, no matter what. _Might as well pull out all the stops this time._

The man is big, all of it being fat. So, reasonably and logically, his first move would be to tackle her smaller frame. And she’s standing close to the edge of the stage.

_Perfect._

He’s coming at her and she’s in the fighting stance. She moves quickly and he plunges off the stage. It doesn’t kill him because he staggers to his feet. Crowley’s wings reveal themselves and Bastard stands in amazement. With him distracted, Crowley drives her heel into the side of his head. The crack of slamming the heel into his head resonates throughout the room. A few audible gasps are heard, while most stare in shock. At her wings or at their dead boss was up for debate, but Crowley didn’t care. As she hovered above the stage, her wings flapping, she could only feel relief.

“Ladies and gents, I am your new boss. Anyone that has any objections, voice them now.”

“Yeah, how the FUCK do you have wings?!?!” A man, by the name of Rudie shouts. Many heads nodded in agreement. 

“I am a demon.” she takes off her glasses and everyone could see her golden snake eyes. “Yes, I have wings, but that doesn't mean I am less of a demon.” Then as if by some ‘miracle’ everyone accepted it for what it was. She continued her speech, 

“I have gained the position of boss fair and square. I expect you all treat me with respect and dignity. Anyone found conspiring against me will be killed. Anymore questions?” No one in the crowd had any objections. Yeah, some were a little worried with having a _demon_ as their boss but, what can you do? 

Bernie was absolutely stunned. He had always been a sucker for danger. A woman that could beat him up and was a celestial being capable of who knows what checked all his boxes. He found himself smitten with the demon -dare he say _angel_ \- that floated above the stage. With her golden eyes, beautiful black wings, and fiery hair, he _fell._

Crowley stands on the stage and pulls her wings back in. With a delighted smile on her face, she clasps her hands together. 

“That sounds like berries to me! Now, Joseph.” Joseph turns to meet her eyes. “Come give Ronald a proper burial. He deserves it.” Joseph wipes away a tear and nods. He gets his buddies and they walk away with Ronald’s body. Some of those close to Ronald left with them. (When they get outside they, by some miracle, they find an already dug grave.)

“Bernie, as my newly appointed right-hand man, I deem you responsible for taking care of this bastard’s body. Burn it, rip it apart, anything but burying him.” Bernie gaps at Crowley. Rudie shakes him out of his daze and he nods. He grabs the body and leaves the room. The remaining members look fixedly towards her. 

“The rest of you are to find your beds. With Prohibition soon coming into law we will finally be able to upgrade this place. Giving some of you homes and everyone more money.” Everyone else leaves, already trading opinions on what just happened.

Crowley saunters off the stage and to her new room. When she finally gets there, she smiles to herself. _Bet Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to do that._

Irene finished the story with a big smile on her face. Meanwhile, Aziraphale wasn't really all there.

“I know I wasn’t there but isn’t she just the coolest!?!?!” Aziraphale is pulled from the story with Irene’s shrill squeal. He nods vacantly. He feels something in his chest. He can’t really tell what it is but they hurt. 

“Oh rats! It’s almost 11!! I have to get to dinner with everyone! Sorry Mr. Azira but I gotta go! I’ll tell you more tomorrow! Night!” She rushes out the door. Aziraphale hears the click of the lock and her scuttling footsteps. Even though he doesn’t know how long Irene went with story, he lays in bed. 

He can’t stop his mind from wandering. _That was Crowley in the story. The same rebellious, head-strong, fiery man I fell in love with. But, he’s also so different._

Aziraphale feels empty. Or, something similar to it. The buzzing emotions swirling in his chest make him feel queasy. He curls into the fetal position and thinks and thinks. Trying to decipher his feelings for the _familiar but different_ man in the story he heard. Thinking of another universe, lifetime where things could have been better. _Where I wasn’t too slow for him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I think this is my longest chapter so far. Aw man.)


	15. Falling and Failing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's song is Every Note by Mystery Skull

Crowley was ever thankful for his origins as an angel in situations like these. His ability to miracle up whatever he wanted (as long as it was under the guise of tempting*) was perfect. He was able to whip up a whole house under the speakeasy. The whole nine yards, a kitchen, dining room, big enough living room, and enough bathrooms and bedrooms for everyone. To those who didn’t live here full time, it was the perfect get-away. To those with no house, it was their home. And Crowley welcomed them all. 

(It was a Thursday. The day that everyone in Eden’s Snakes gets together and eats. Preparations usually start around 11 but they only get to eat from anywhere from 2-3 AM. Crowley is very adamant when that everyone, and yes, EVERYONE, eats together and talks.)

The smell of ham and assorted cooked vegetables fill the kitchen/dining room. Crowley sits at the head of the table. The guys and a few girls sat around a radio, listening to a baseball game. All of them laughing and taking jabs at each other, while playing a game of cards. Most of the girls had taken to getting dinner ready. (Crowley’s horrendous cooking skills were always made apparent.) The few who weren’t cooking were outside in the hallway, smoking and gossiping. The young ones, were all entertaining themselves in different ways. Some of the rowdier kids ran around while playing cowboys and sheriffs. The kids seated at the table were either playing their own card game or playing imagination with their toys. Or with the older kids, talking. Irene, however, was reading, just two seats away from Crowley on her right. The seat between her and Irene was for Bernie. 

A 7-year old boy currently held Crowley’s attention. He was a sweet boy with the name Eugene. He was telling a story to Crowley about what his teddy bear did when he was a real bear. 

“And Mr. Ellie met with his old friend Ms. Swan. They were drinking tea when Mr. Harry came in with very sad news! They had found… a body!” He swings Mr. Ellie in Crowley’s face and her face becomes one of pure shock. 

“Oh my! Who was it? I don’t know if my poor heart can take it!” Her hand was on her chest, as another went to rest on her forehead. Eugene giggles at her display. 

“It was… Ms. Brooks! She was found,” He pauses for maximum drama, “not breathing!” Crowley takes a shuddering breath. 

“Oh my! How very sad! What does brave Mr. Ellie do?” Crowley leans in super close, as if it’s a closely guarded secret. Eugene can’t stop his giggles. And she hears Irene giggle at them too. His smile is big and he pulls his bear close to his chest. 

“I can’t tell you. Not yet! You have to wait till next week, Miss Scarlet.” The look on his face is devious and Crowley can’t help but smile back. She quickly throws back on a heartbroken expression.

“I don’t know if I can handle waiting! But, I will push through. I must know.” She tucks some of Eugene’s curly black hair back from his face. He reaches for a hug and Crowley returns it fully. 

“Come on boys and girls! Dinner’s ready!” Doris says, holding the ham with both of her hands. She sets it in the middle of the long table. The rest of the sides are placed along the table. Everyone playing the card game dropped them and raced to the table. The card games and the book are put away as everyone waits rather impatiently for the food. Plates are set out and eventually everyone found a seat. Soon, some are already on their second plates while others haven’t touched their plate. 

Crowley eats just for Doris’ amazing cooking. She nibbles on her baked ham as her potatoes cooled. People were chattering and laughing like it was a family Thanksgiving. Words flown about the recent news to stuff that had happened just today. It filled the room and Crowley’s ears. It warms Crowley, like a thousand pleasantly warm suns. However, Irene’s story was the loudest thing Crowley could hear. 

“Mr. Azira said that he’s been to Rome! Can you believe that? He said he tasted snails and they tasted really good. I can’t think of how or why he would find them good.” She had stopped eating momentarily. Crowley turned her head slightly towards her. 

“You never know till you try ‘em, Irene. Where else has this cop been?” Bernie questioned through the carrots in his mouth. 

“He said he’s been all over the world! From Asia, to Rome, to England, and even France! He said that he always had a friend with him. He won’t tell me his name though.” Crowley gripped her fork tightly. (She knew some part of her was irrationally angry at this but another part said when it came to Aziraphale, no anger was irrational.)

“Wait, aren’t you from England?” Irene’s eyes and fork zipped to Crowley. 

“I am. From Scotland precisely.” Crowley’s tone was stern. It lacked the warmth that everyone gained at meal time. Those listening noticed that little fact. 

“Cool. Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t trust him, Miss Scarlet. I think he’s super nice.” Irene has turned back to her food. She’s lucky she’s missing Crowley’s smoldering eyes.

_She doesn’t know better. Calm down you idiot._

Bernie’s hand finds Crowleys and Eugene’s big blue eyes meet hers. She turns to smile at Eugene and give him a kiss on the forehead. He smiles over the fork in his mouth and turns back to his food. Crowley squeezes Bernie’s hand and sighs.

“He might be, but you never know with some people. And he’s a cop. Extra no trust points there.” She points at her with her fork. She jabs some potatoes into her mouth.

“Maybe. But I think he’s through and through a nice guy.” This time, she jabs the fork into her cheek. After relishing in the pain for a quick second, Crowley has calmed down again. 

“Still, be careful around him. Remember. Extra no trust points.” Irene nods. Crowley only picks at her food the rest of dinner. 

Soon, everyone puts the dishes in the sink and head to bed. All the kids (and Mr. Ellie) are sent to bed with a kiss on the head/cheek. The girls and guys all say their good nights. Crowley and Bernie are the last to leave. Crowley tugs on Bernie’s shoulder and gestures towards her meeting room. He nods and they both walk to the room. 

“WHAT IS HE PLAYING AT!?!?” Is the first thing to leave Crowley’s mouth when she closes the door behind her. “HOW DARE HE GET CLOSE TO IRENE!!!” 

Bernie couldn’t get as mad as Crowley is over this. He knew for a while about how close the two were. He had heard many stories of his journeys around the world and how amazed by them Irene was. Bernie was happy for her to have someone to talk to about books. (Something that really wasn’t his thing. Now baseball, he could talk about that.) 

Crowley huffs loudly and notices Bernie’s silence. 

“What? Don’t tell me you’ve been… consorting with him too!?!” Her finger points straight at him. He feels as if he’s at the end of a gun. 

“No! It’s that I can’t be angry that Irene has a friend. A friend-” The gun is fired. 

“WE ARE HER FRIENDS AND FAMILY!!! NOT THAT COP!!!” Spit and venom flies. Her eyes look blood-thristy. “HE IS USING HER!!! CAN’T YOU SEE THAT?!?!” Her hair is frizzled and hangs over her eyes. Bernie is backed into the corner, a little terrified at her anger. “HE’LL PLAY NICE AND THEN HE’LL LEAVE HER IN THE DUST!!! HE’LL TELL ALL HIS COP BUDDIES AND THEN WE’LL HAVE TO LEAVE!!! I WON’T RUN AGAIN!! I CAME HERE TO LEAVE HIM BEHIND!!! HE WON’T CHASE ME OUT!!!” Her screeches ring in Bernie’s ears. Her eyes are watery and her voice cracks as she finishes. Bernie wants to reach out and comfort her but that would be like petting a cobra. 

Crowley recoils from Bernie. She turns away from him and wraps her arms around her shoulders.

“Get out. Please.” 

Bernie nods and leaves. 

Crowley sinks to the floor with her knees up to her chin. Her wings unfurl and wrap around her. She feels _cold_ again. Only moments before she was burning with an inferno, now she felt like a glacier. 

_It feels like I fell all over again._

She can _feel_ her back cracking as she hits the sulfur. Her wings are aflame but she feels _empty. She isn’t with me anymore. Her warmth, it’s gone._ Even as Crowley lays around the poling pits of lava, she can’t feel any of it. She only feels _numb_ to all the heat. 

“FUCK! STOP!!” Her nails have found purchase in her scalp. Their burn is nothing compared to what it felt to be near Aziraphale. How effortlessly she felt warm again, _like she had never fallen, like she was worthy of being loved again._

A scream rips her throat as she huddles to the ground. Her eyes are screwed shut and she clenches her jaw impossibly hard. Tears stream down her face. Her wings, the bittersweet comfort they are, pull her into a cocoon. She’s curled into the fetal position. She can only think about how frigid and alone she feels. How _worthless_ and _horrendous_ she is. She can’t do anything but cry and huddle into her wings. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The note to hell, in just, said, "You can't tempt people with just bones."


	16. Bernie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning! Bernie scratches himself hard enough to draw blood. He also has self-degrading thoughts, so be warry if need be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late! School stuff happened.

Bernie had trouble going to sleep. Scratch that, he didn’t sleep at all that night. He couldn’t stop his rambling thoughts. Mr. Azira was right, he was in love with Scarlet. He did want to be more than just her right-hand man. He would do anything for her affection and validation. But, he loved his sister. She was his only family left. He was ecstatic that she had someone to connect to over a subject he wasn’t fond of. He couldn’t hurt him just because of Scarlet’s past.

But _he would_. But, Irene would be furious that Mr. Azira was hurt. She would hate him. Scarlet’s validation would be heavenly but _. Beating up_ _your sister’s best friend so someone would love you back, how gross are you?_

He spent hours battling over what would be the right option. Either option left him feeling equally terrible. Do it for Scarlet and feel like a sleazy douche. Do it for Irene and he’ll feel that he had a chance to show that he is deserving and he fucked it up. It tore at him all night.

Multiple times he would come out of thought and see long scratch marks on his arms. As the night went on, the scratches turned more and more red, until he broke the skin. He didn’t notice the red droplets forming on his arms at first. When he did, he gave a heavy sigh.  _ I really should find a better nervous habit. _ He flicked on the lamp next to his bed.

He bumbled around his room, rummaging for his bandages. When he finally found them, he slowly wrapped the scratches. While he was in the middle of wrapping up his left arm, Scarlet slams open the door. Her hands were balled into fists. Her eyes, sunglass-less, burned Bernie. He jumps in his seat and turns to look at her with wide eyes. 

“We’re talking to him together. Go get- Wait.” He stance changes. Her hands flatten out and she steps into the room. “What happened Bernie?” Her voice softens. Bernie’s breaths quicken. H he can’t stop looking at her. He stutters. 

_ You gonna admit your a pussy to your boss? Go on, tell her you aren’t man enough to kill one dude. _

“Uh N-Nothing boss. Just a cut. Let me-”

“So, you got a cut big enough, on both arms, that you have to bandage up your whole arm? I know when someone is bullshitting me. Especially you.” She’s moved closer to look at him. In return, Bernie stands up and backs away from her. 

“Yes. I was being careless. It’s late, I wasn’t paying attention. I’m fine Scarlet.” He picks up the bandages and finishes wrapping up his arm. Crowley’s worried face goes unnoticed. Her sigh does not. Bernie brushes past her and heads to where he put Aziraphale. 

Bernie finds his room and opens the door. Irene was sitting in Mr. Azira’s lap with a book on the floor. Bernie felt himself get punched in the gut. He collects his emotions to stop himself from crying.

He gently picks up Irene and heads out of the room. She grumbles awake.

“Where…. Is Mr. Azira? Weren’t we just reading?” She slurs over her words and Bernie kisses her forehead. 

“You were. But it’s late, and you got a nice warm bed waiting for you.” Bernie whispers. Irene nods and closes her eyes again. Bernie sets her in her bed, with another kiss on the forehead, and heads back to Mr. Azira. 

He walks back into the nicely lit room and Mr. Azira is still asleep in the chair. He shakes him awake. The cop wakes up with a start. He looks to Bernie with questioning eyes. 

“I took Irene to bed. Boss wants a word with you.” He brightens and quickly stands up. The cop smiles and straightens his tie. Bernie stumbles back in shock.  _ What’s this dude’s deal? _

“Well, let’s go young sir. I’ve been waiting to talk to your boss.” Bernie is blind-sided. He didn’t think the captive would be that excited.  _ Granted, he doesn’t know what he’s getting into.  _

“Oh! Where are my manners! I’m Aziraphale Fell. You are Bernie, Irene’s brother right?” He sticks his hand out for a handshake. Bernie stands amazed at this man’s priorities. “I don’t bite sir. I simply want to formally introduce myself.” Bernie hesitantly takes his hand.  _ Who is this guy? I punch him in the face and he’s acting as if it never happened. _

“Yes, my name is Bernie. Irene is my younger sister. She’s told me lots about you.” Aziraphale smiles is wide. 

“Same here. She really does admire you. Well, let’s get a wiggle on. That’s what you say now-a-days, right? I’m still trying to learn all the slang.” Bernie nods, his eyebrows raised. Bernie heads out first, the eccentric cop following behind him. Bernie keeps glancing over his shoulder to make sure the dude doesn’t sprint off. But he doesn’t, he follows behind with that bright smile. Bernie is thoroughly mystified by this weird ass cop. 

They reach the door to the main meeting room. Aziraphale can’t keep still and Bernie bites his cheek to stop his thoughts and shaking. He turns with a worried look to the cop. 

“Fair warning, she gets nasty when she’s angry or interviewing someone. Go in cautious. You never know what will happen.” The cop seems lost in thought but nods. Bernie shakes his head.  _ Your funeral.  _

Bernie opens the door to see Crowley and he’s stunned. She looks gorgeous sitting on the desk, long legs crossed, smoking her cig. A bottle and a glass full of liquor isn’t far from her hand. He’s brought back to Earth with er clearing her throat. Her glasses cover her very obvious glare. He steps in and sits on the chair in front of her.

Aziraphale is sweating and constantly wringing his hands together. All of his rambling thoughts run into one when he sees Crowley sitting on the desk. All he can do is stare at her, lovestruck, from the doorway. Bernie fidgets nervously at the (one-sided) stare down. 

“Sit.” Her voice is effortless and cold. Bernie shivers and Aziraphale briefly falters. He sits in the chair opposite of Bernie, stilling smiling like an idiot. 

“It’s great to see you again Cro-” She throws a bottle near his head. Bernie ducks at the sound of the glass shattering and turns to look at her. She sits in the same position from when he walked in. Her eyes stare straight ahead, but a fury is behind them. (Aziraphale only slightly flinched when the bottle shattered. Even after everything, he still trust Crowley.)

“ _You_ will address me as Scarlet.” Bernie turns to look at Aziraphale, expecting him to be running for the door. But he sits firm in his seat with a face of determination and understanding. The smile is gone from his face, but he meets Crowley’s eyes with kindness.

“Yes, sorry Scarlet.” He clears his throat, like it will clear the tension in the air. “I’m just happy to see you again.” She huffs and turns to look at the wall. She takes a drag and pushes her foot into Bernie’s back. A silent  _ you know what to do.  _ Bernie coughs into his fist and smooths down his pants. 

“Why are you here, cop?” Aziraphale gives a small smile. 

“I came here to see Scarlet. I’ve been meaning to talk to her.” The sound of her cig snapping echoes in the room. Bernie can feel his sweat pick up. He leans forward. __

“Talk about what? Business? Your past? Ducks?” Crowley snorts at that and gets up for another cig. Aziraphale smile turns sad as his eyes turn downwards. 

“Our past. I said some horrible things to her a long time ago. I’ve come to apologize and confess something.” Crowley leans against Bernie’s chair. Bernie can feel her shadow over him. 

“What?” Her voice slithers from behind Bernie. He feels her shadow grow heavier as he struggles to breathe. 

“I-I” Aziraphale sputtered, trying to get the words out. “I love you too Crowley. I was blind and I didn’t realize it. I came to your house a week after the incident and when I didn’t find you. I broke. I can never forgive myself for my actions.” Aziraphale looks to Crowley for a reaction. She’s seething. She harshly grips Bernie’s shoulder. 

“Kill him.” She states into the open. Bernie and Aziraphale both look to her in shock. Aziraphale tries to come up with something to say, but he can’t.  _ This isn’t Crowley!  _ Is the only finished sentence he can think.

“But boss, you said-” She harshly cuts him off and pulls off her glasses. 

“I did. But if he came here for me, it’d be too nice for him to die by my hands.” Her voice chills him to the bone. 

“Boss, we can’t-”

“Crowley! Please!” She directs her harsh gaze to Aziraphale. She marches towards him and Bernie tries to grab her.

“ _ YOU  _ don’t get to call me that!” Bernie fears the worst. 

Bernie snatches her by her wait. Her burning eyes don’t leave Aziraphale. She struggles and pounds on his arms. He picks her up and drags her outside. 

“LET ME HIT HIM! HE DESERVES IT!” She screams. Her hands claw out at the men. His bravery crumbles as the door closes. Aziraphale closes his eyes and covers his ears. 

_ Oh dear, what have I done? _


	17. What To Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for leaving the nice comments and leaving kudos! Every morning when I wake up to see the kudos and comments, it makes me feel a little more optimistic about the day.  
> Enough gushing, Today's song is Fire by Barns Courtney

Crowley, finally after hours, felt something other than that suffocating cold.

_But now, the fire’s died out._

She lashes out at Bernie when they get outside the room. She kicks and punches at him. But, he keeps her close to him in a hug.

She's desperately trying to keep that anger, that warmth. To feel anything but _cold._

“Please Bernie! He deserves a smack to the face! He…. He d-deserves it! He-He does!” The tears catch up with her. She crumbles and latches onto Bernie. 

“Why ca-can’t I stop-p crying? W-Why Bernie?” Bernie can only answer with rubbing her back. 

“I don’t know Scarlet. I don’t. But it’s okay. As long as you feel better.” She shakes her head. 

_The words freeze in her throat. But she spits them out, with the little fire she still has._

“B-but the f-feelings! T-they al-lways come b-back! I wa-want them gone.” Her voice quivers and cracks. Bernie can feel his own heart break. 

“Bu-But at the same time, th-there all I-I hav-ve.” Crowley feels littered with cracks and broken edges, _but Bernie holds all of her._

“You can’t escape your feelings but you can learn to… deal with them. Use them for good.” Bernie speaks softly, _terrified he’s going to lose a piece of her_. She shakes her head against his chest. 

“H-He’s ly-ying! He do-oesn’t care a-about me! I w-want h-h-i-im g-guh-gone.” Bernie thinks on an answer. 

“How do you know?” He waits for her to scream at him. To be furious he would even think that.

But she’s silent, so he keeps going. “Maybe, he really means it. If you don’t believe him, let him prove it.” She pulls her head away from his chest with a raised eyebrow. 

“How? H-He doesn’t deserve a second chance. Not after what he did to me.” She hides her face in his chest again. If this was any other time, he would ask what happened between them. (But he thinks he can fill in the blanks himself.)

“No, he doesn’t. But Irene really cares for him. You hated him for leaving you. Don’t let her feel that way too.” Scarlet sighs into his chest. It’s silent in the hallway. Bernie waits at the edge of the cliff, waiting for her response. 

“You big softie. You’re right.” The answer sits between them for awhile. Bernie breathes a sigh of relief. He pats her back and she pulls away from him. She wipes her eyes with her back turned to him. He smiles for her, even though she can’t see it. Another sigh and she faces him. Her hands hold her elbows and her smile is small. (But still full of tenderness and thankfulness.) 

“Thank you Bernie. Thank you for stopping me. I s-still c-c-” She drops the sentence and wipes her eyes again. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Bernie feels his heart race. He nods and wipes his face. (He hopes that will get rid of the red inching towards his face.)

“It’s fine boss. What right-hand man would I be if I didn’t smack some sense into you every once and awhile?” Scarlet smiles and chuckles. (He brightens at making her laugh.) She sniffs and wipes her nose. 

“You’re right. You’re right.” She reaches for his hand and squeezes it. Bernie feels his face heat up as he stares at their joined hands. _It’s friendly!! Friendly!! Stop those feelings!_ “Thanks again Bernie.” He nods quickly. He wants to hold onto this moment. But it also hurts.

“Yeah, yeah Scarlet. Whatever you need, whenever you need it.” Her smile lights him up and she squeezes his hand. She lets go and rubs her eyes again. 

“It’s late. I-I should head to bed. Take care of him will you? I know after-” Bernie holds up a hand and his easy smile appears. 

“It’s fine Scarlet. I’ll take care of him. You just get some sleep.” She nods but hesitates. She doesn’t immediately leave. They stand in the awkward (for him at least) silence for a few moments. She nods again (to herself) and walks away. Bernie waits till she’s out of his sight to breath again. He kneels over and takes deep breaths. His thoughts weigh down on his lungs. 

It takes him a few minutes to be able to breath normally. He stands outside the door even longer, just reliving the past few minutes. He’s terrified to go back in and see the state of Aziraphale. _The dude must be even worse off than I am._ That kicks him to open the door and face Aziraphale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I little mean for leaving it here? Yes. Would it be a little awkward to smash cut to Aziraphale's perspective after this scene? For me, yes.  
> Have a good day!


	18. Desiderium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desiderium:  
> An ardent desire or longing; Especially: a feeling of loss or grief for something lost.  
> (Guess that's kind of Aziraphale's mood the whole story.)  
> From here on out, bold italics means flashback.  
> While italics still mean current thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't update yesterday! School is starting soon and I wanted to spend yesterday focusing on just writing new chapters. Super sorry again!  
> Anyway, today's song is Every Other Freckle by alt-j

_WHAT were you THINKING!?!?_

Aziraphale is hunched over the chair. He clutches his head in his hands, covering his eyes. The last few moments replay over and over again.

**_“I love you too Crowley.”_ **

**_“Kill him.”_ **

**_“Crowley! Please!”_ **

**_“YOU don’t get to call me that!”_ **

_That was the worst time to say it!! What made you think this, of all times, was the right time!?!_

_I… I don’t know. I…._

He feels tears slip through his fingers. 

_And Crowley._

That thought causes the tears to fall faster. And a sob wretches form his throat.

_Oh dear, I miss him so much. Even when he’s right in front of me, it’s like I’m talking to him from another country. I feel like it’s not even my Crowley anymore._

_What am I saying? He… He isn’t mine. And… he… he never was._

His hands muffle his sobs and he kneels on the floor. His wings come out to wrap around his hunched form. 

**_“Kill him.”_ **

_He doesn’t mean it, right? We’ve been through so much and…._

His thoughts grapple to find something to hold onto. Something to dry the tears that pull him closer and closer to the floor. 

_Anything’s possible! He kicked you in the face with no remorse!_

_We don’t know that! We didn’t see him after the kick! Maybe he did!_ The thought he latches onto feels weak and flimsy. But it makes him feel better, nonetheless.

_You seriously believe that?_ (The voice reminds him vaguely of Gabriel.)

_Yes, I still trust him._ _I know my Crowley._

_Your Crowley wouldn’t have hurt you._ Aziraphale feels a pang in his chest at that. 

_But, it’s still Crowley! He was just angry that I showed back up! If Gabriel showed up on Earth, and if I could, I’d kick him in the face too!_

_But Crowley isn’t you. He’s a demon, he doesn’t care for you. Not any more. Even Irene agrees._

Another pang, his tears steadily stream down his face. 

_Why even stay, huh? You’re whole mission is worthless if Crowley doesn’t even care._

_But he does. I know he does._ (Again, it’s flimsy, but he holds onto it as hard as he can.) _Some things you can’t change._

The thoughts of hope do little to stop his tears. But as he struggles to breathe, he hopes still. He hopes that Crowley can accept him again. He hopes that _maybe_ a life in a little cottage in England was still possible. 

_An impossible dream, that’s what that is. You know very well that Crowley won’t accept you. Not ever again._

As Aziraphale is about to go down that path, he feels a hand. At first, it feels nice. Like a hand on your shoulder. Then he realizes, it’s on his _wings. Not his shoulder._

“AAAAAAAAAH!!” He was suddenly harshly yanked from his thoughts. He whips around and pulls back in his wings. He gapes at him. Bernie’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. 

“WHY!?!?! Did you touch my wings!?!?” Aziraphale’s eyes are teary and red. He then pulls his knees close to his chest and wraps his arms around them. _I don’t want to be having this conversation!_ He sniffles and wipes his nose. _Really this is the most impractical time._

“Why.. do you have wings??” (He says it like it’s a good comeback.) Aziraphale’s eyes are narrowed at him as he rolls his eyes. 

“Frankly, it’s none of your business.” Aziraphale huffed. (He faintly reminded Bernie of an angry chicken.) “They are my wings and I don’t have to explain them to you.” He stuffs his face in between his knees. Then Aziraphale is hit with the gravity of the situation. 

_Oh, this man probably just saved my behind! And here I’m acting like he’s slapped me! What is wrong with me today!?_

“I’m dreadfully sorry, Bernie. I haven’t been in the best state of mind.”Aziraphale loosens up and crosses his legs. “Yes, I am an angel.” 

Bernie stands with his eyeballs and mouth on the floor. He’s met _two_ celestial beings in his lifetime. _Two!!_ That’s enough to shake anyone, at least, a little. 

“An angel! That’s what you are!” Bernie’s finger points dumbly at Aziraphale. 

He sighed, trying to get rid of the tears that clogged his throat. (It doesn’t help much but it’s enough.)

“Why yes, I am.” He says it in his best fake happy. And Bernie notices. And even though he wants to ask all about heaven and what’s it like, he doesn’t. _Now isn’t the time to be asking._

Bernie sits next to Aziraphale and gives him a pat on the back. (He can only hope it’s comforting.)

“Sorry about Scarlet. I didn’t think she’d get that angry with you.” 

“It’s fine Bernie. I’ve never seen her very angry. It was a shock, is all.” Aziraphale takes a breath and continues. “Sure she acted all tough. But, I always knew, deep down, she was nice. In fact, she’d go into fits of rage when I’d call her that.” Bernie waits to see if he will talk more, but he doesn’t. So, Bernie asks the question that had been bugging him. 

“Why did you keep calling her ‘Crowley’?” Aziraphale looks at his hands as he fiddles with them. 

“Before she moved to America, that was her name. And long before then, Crawly.” (He stops, but remembers that it’s an odd name.) “Her parents were old-timers. Never good with names either.” Bernie nods, showing that yes, her parents were bad namers. He then stands up and clasps a hand onto his shoulder. 

“It’s late. I should get you to bed.” Aziraphale tenses but quickly gets up. They walk back in silence to Aziraphale’s room. 

“Thank you Bernie.” It’s quiet but Bernie hears it. He reassuringly pats his back. 

“No problem. If you need anything, you can come to me. Sorry about our first talk together. Where I, y’know, punched your face” Aziraphale waves a hand in dismissal. 

“It’s fine dear boy. I don’t put any blame on you. My position has made me do many things I wouldn’t normally do too.” (Bernie gets the sense he isn’t talking about being a cop. But he lets it slide.)

“Okay Aziraphale. You get some sleep alright? I’m pretty sure the boss is gonna start putting you to work around here.” He chuckles to himself and closes the door. 

Aziraphale leans against the door and relaxes. 

**_“Kill him.”_ **

**_“YOU don’t get to call me that.”_ **

The same lines are repeated over and over again his head. 

_What am I going to do?_

Aziraphale spends the rest of the night (the clock in his room said it was 4, so technically the rest of the morning) pondering. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought Aziraphale would escape the angst? Hah. No one can in my books.


	19. The Twins and The Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon coming through: All angel's have really really REALLY good singing voices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeh, school starts tomorrow for me. I don't know if I'll have time when I get home to edit my stories, so updates might just be on Saturdays and Sundays. (And on the last week of every month a Wednesday.)  
> The story isn't being abandoned however. It will be finished. The updates will just be considerably slower.

Aziraphale had become part of the gang. 

Not really, actually. It was more like he couldn’t (and honestly didn’t want to) leave so he defaulted to being part of the gang. How it exactly went was Crowley told him, with Irene and a Klondike Bar in hand, “work at the bar and I’ll see if you’re worthy.” So he really couldn’t leave. 

The speakeasy wasn’t open yet so, Doris was trying to make small talk with Aziraphale. Really, it was like talking to a brick wall.

“So, Azira, (He wasn’t pleased this was what everyone called him but he had no room to make demands) what do you like to do in your free time?” (It was also unofficially agreed that NOBODY was to ask why Aziraphale was now bartending.) Aziraphale mindlessly continued cleaning the glass. Doris helplessly look to her twin sister, Dorothy. 

They had both tried to talk to Aziraphale over the past hour. The wall didn’t respond to either of them. But Doris was more determined then Dorothy to get something out of him. 

“I don’t know how I’m gonna get that guy to open up.” Doris says, utterly deflated and defeated. 

“Maybe we just aren’t asking the right questions?” Dorothy offered. Her sister huffed and turned to look at Aziraphale. (Who was still hopelessly wiping the glass).

“If we did, do you really think he’d answer them?” Doris looked to her twin and Dorothy understood. 

“You can’t be friends with everyone Dee.” Dorothy said, trying to sound like the bigger sister. (She was really the younger one but would fight anyone who said otherwise.)

“I know but. He seems so lonely, don’t you agree?” Doris glances again at him again. Only this time, he isn’t there. 

“Fuck. Doe, we lost him!” Doris gives her sister’s outfit a tug and point in the direction of the missing cop. “Jesus we are so-”

“Dee! He probably went to the bathroom! Honestly, it’s not the big of a deal!” She swipes her hand from Doris’s grip. 

“He is basically a captive! Who’s to say he wouldn’t leave at the first chance he got!?” Doris again reaches for her twin’s wrist. Dorothy backs away and flick a hand up.

“You yourself said he was lonely. Why would he run?” 

“He. Is a COP! Being lonely wouldn’t stop me from running. Now, please!” Doris pleads fall on deaf ears. 

“Nuh uh. I love you but you lost him, on YOUR turn to watch him.” Dorothy turns around and heads to the opposite end of the bar. (Not to do anything mind you. It was just to get away from Doris.) Doris throws her arms up in exasperation.

“IT WAS YOUR JOB THOUGH!” Dorothy pretends she can’t hear her. “I’LL TELL SCARLET ABOUT YOUR SIDE BUSINESS!” That gets Dorothy to walk back to her. (She gets right up in her face too.)

“You wouldn’t dare.” Dorothy harshly whispers. But Doris gives a smug smirk. 

“You bet your bottom dollar I would.” 

“You wouldn’t.” Her smirk grows wider. 

“SCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR-” Dorothy quickly covers her mouth her with rage in her eyes. 

“FINEFINEFINEFINE!! Shut it you little shit!” Doris giggles over her twin''s hands. When the hands retreat, she sticks her tongue out. 

“Thanks sis!! Love ya!!” Doris skips away before her sister had the chance to kill her.

Dorothy begrudgingly sets out to the backroom to hopefully find Aziraphale. 

As she walks closer and closer to the backroom door, a sweet, almost heavenly (if I may) sound fills her ears. Her grimace slowly falls and she feels herself become entranced and calm. Like she’s floating on a cloud. 

By the time she’s reached the backroom she’s memorized. The singing is louder but still featherly light and soft. 

“ _A smiling face, a fireplace, a cozy room. A little nest that nestles where roses bloom. Just a cozy room. Full of love and books. I’m happy in my blue heaven.”_ She feels herself gently fall asleep as she leans against the door. Her mission from earlier floats away as she falls asleep on the singing cloud. 

That is until, she flies back. Barely having any time to prepare herself when she meets the floor. 

“Oh dear! Dorothy! Are you hurt? Here, let me help you up.” Dorothy is tugged from the ground, still entranced by the earlier singing. “Really dear, you must be careful! I don’t know what I would do if I had accidentally hurt you.” Aziraphale looks for a response. But all Dorothy can do is stand confused. 

(And this is where everything changes for Dorothy.)

“You’ll-” He starts but her frenzied voice cuts him off. 

“Were you the one singing just now?” It’s his turn to stand confused. She points her finger at him and his apple-red face. Aziraphale twiddles with his fingers and struggles to answer. He’s caught in the intensity of her eyes, a little scared at it.

“It was really good! I’ve-I’ve never heard anything better in my 23-years on this Earth. Can… Can you sing again?!” Her blue eyes are bright and desperate. (The kind of desperate a starving man feels.) Aziraphale continues to fiddle with his hands but he does drag his gaze to his shoes. 

“Please!! It was so pretty! Please sir!” She puts her hands on his shoulders and shakes him. He meets her pleading eyes and sighs. 

“You’ll forget this happened and wake up thinking of whatever you like best.” He snaps his fingers. _I can only hope this works._

“What? I’m not sleeping! I want to hear you sing!!” Aziraphale feels as if he dug his grave a little deeper. (And her appetite only grows for him.)

“I’m sorry Dorothy but, I can’t sing for you. Not for awhile at the very least.” He mumbles the last sentence to himself. Her eyes pool with tears and her mouth dries. 

“WHY NOT!?!?!” Her desperation shakes him. _Oh dear, this isn’t good._ Aziraphale hits himself over the head. And then he does the same thing to her. 

“I’m very sorry, dear. It was for your own good.” He says quietly after he’s caught her in his arms. He again hits himself over his head for his short-sightedness. _I don’t even know where she sleeps! I can’t walk around with her like this!_

“Doe?! Doe I-” Doris comes around the corner. She stares at the two. (Not in shock or confusion, more curiousioty than anything.) Aziraphale’s grave must reach the center of the Earth by now.

“What are you doing with Doe?” Doris glares at Aziraphale as he flounders trying to answer. 

“Uh. She came looking for me and,” An awkward pause ensues. Doris crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. “When I came out, I accidently knocked her out with the door?” Aziraphale feels like an insect under Doris’s harsh gaze. He can feel his hands get sweatier the longer he waits for a response. 

“Then let’s tell Scarlet. She’s really good w-” Aziraphale’s panic pushes words out his mouth.

“NO!! No! Let’s not tell Scarlet. Eheh. Cause, I’ve only started working here and I wouldn’t want her to y’know. Kill me or anything.” He laughs nervously. Doris walks closer and picks up Dorothy in her arms. 

“I get it. I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side either. One time she caught two patrons having sex, in her ROOM no less, and they never returned.” Doris gossips. She then walks away with Dorothy in her arms. Aziraphale is left shell-shocked. (This was frankly too many surprises for him.)

“What?” He whispers to himself, feeling utterly confused and lost. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for 150 kudos! Never thought that many people would like my story. Thank you all so much!  
> And to those worried Crowley and Aziraphale won't make up, they will! Promise ;)  
> The song Aziraphale sung is "My Blue Heaven" By Gene Austin with a few tweaked lyrics.


	20. 12 O'Clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly NSFW but like no sex or anything. Just some suggestive images and thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know how I said, 'seven tomorrow'? Well, that's today now at about 8.  
> School got in the way but, it's all good. We get a sicc update today.

Aziraphale spent the rest of the day ignoring the twins. He mindlessly cleaned glasses while the twins whispered and glanced at him. He doesn’t blame them, it was an odd experience for them both. Being hypnotized by an angel’s singing and seeing your sister passed out did not seem like a fun Wednesday. So the two groups stayed on their side of the bar. Until it reached 9.

Once the doors to the speakeasy opened, the two groups were forced to interact. As Aziraphale whipped back and forth from one side of the bar to the other, he briefly wondered, _Is it always like this?_

Finally, the clock struck 12 AM. 

Him and the twins were given time to catch their breath as the partons grabbed whatever seat they could. The lights dimmed and a spotlight shone on the stage. Aziraphale glanced at the twins. Doris was staring at the stage as well while her twin took out a cigarette. Dorothy caught him staring and threw him a wink. 

Slightly flustered, he too joined everyone’s intense staring. 

Then, she appeared. Shining brighter than any spotlight.

Aziraphale felt he could have fallen right then and there. 

Crowley strutted onto the stage. A mask covered her eyes, drawing attention away from her revealed snake eyes. The mask was gold as well, blending her eyes with it. She wore a black sequin corset with gold accents. The corset was attached to something similar to a very short skirt. She wore gloves the same color with gold feathers around her elbow. A curtain of gold feathers was also attached to the corset, as were black stockings. Her heels were the same snake heels he had gotten kicked with. 

Aziraphale was breathless and momentarily, thoughtless. 

Soon, he vaguely feels a pat on his shoulder. 

“I’d put those away if I were you.” Aziraphale turns his eyes to see Dorothy talking to him. He looks at his back and sees his wings out. A squeak escapes him as he quickly pulls them in. Dorothy chuckles at him. Once his wings are away he looks to her puzzled. 

“Why am I not shocked and screaming in fascination? What can I say. When you see it once, it wears off.” Dorothy takes a long drag of her cig as her attention turns to the stage. Aziraphale looks to see Crowley on her back, with her hands cupping-

He forces his eyes to look down at the bar below him. His hands sweat as the jazz and hollers from the crowd fills the room. He weighs his options on whether to bring up earlier today or not. _Because if she doesn't remember it then I wouldn't want to bring it up again._

“Azira! Hey, what’s got you in a twist?” 

He hums, unclenching and clenching his hands. ( _Best to take a leap. Waiting never did help me.)_

“Earlier, you were acting… erratic and…” He trails off, no words seeming to fit. Her eyebrow raises in question. 

“I did? Hmm. Can’t seem to recall.” Aziraphale unclenched his fist and smiles weakly to himself. 

“Never mind then, I must have confused you with someone else.” She nods, and Aziraphale sighs in relief.

_Maybe I got rid of it with knocking her out. Dreadful as it was, it was for the best._

His gaze flows back to Crowley on the stage. (Dorothy takes notice of this.)

“I don’t see what everyone sees in her. All she has is nice hair and a slim figure.” She says snidely. He mostly ignores it, feeling a little lost as to how to respond. He focuses back on the performance before him. Crowley pulls at her glove, slowly revealing her big snake tattoo. (Irene told him what a tattoo was.) It’s wrapped around her arm, starting at her wrist and slithering up to end at her collar bone. Aziraphale’s eyes followed the movement with glazed over eyes. (He also would never admit a part of him wished she would throw him a wink. _Or a smirk like old times._ )

“She’s also a big bitch. I don’t _get_ why everyone loves her. She’s nothing special. Not to the general public at least.” He nods mindlessly and stays quiet. Crowley know runs a tantalizing hand up her _soft looking- no, normal looking thigh. Yes, yes, it’s just a thigh._

“I know you’re a cop and I know you probably aren’t here willingly.” She stops there, like that will get him to finish the sentence for her. He doesn’t, all of his attention is on the stage.

Crowley’s now strutting around the stage, slowing pulling off the curtain of feathers. Her legs are long and _inviting him to just try to touch- AAAAHAHAH. No, I’m perfectly fine here._

Dorothy’s puff of smoke fills his nose and pulls his attention to her face.

“I could get you out. I help those who don’t want to be here get out. I could do the same for you.” Aziraphale’s eyes widen. A large cheer from the crowd throws his attention back to the stage. On there Crowley has began... Aziraphale’s flustered face and frazzled mind goes back to Dorothy. She smirks at him. 

“I see she has you too.” He can’t answer. But she isn’t looking for a response. As Aziraphale grapples for an answer, focusing on _not looking_ at the sin happening on stage, Dorothy smokes her cig. “I’ll be here, when you need me.” He watches her slink away to her sister until lights go out. The cheering reaches an all time high. When the lights come on again, his eyes are thrown back to the stage. And Aziraphale can almost _feel_ his wings burn away a little.

Crowley is completely naked, aside from the huge feather boa modestly wrapped around her and her mask. (Aziraphale couldn’t stop the part of him that wanted more.)

“Thank you for the lovely evening ladies and gentlemen! I’ll be back in just a bit!” She blows a kiss towards the patrons. _This crowd is insatiable._

She saunters off stage, her hips swaying like a snake. His eyes follow every little sway of them. 

_Apparently you are too._

The patrons soon come flooding to the bar, busying Aziraphale. After awhile, another bartender comes up to him.

“I got this shift noobie. Go take a break.” Aziraphale hurries outside, only giving a slight nod. Once outside, he leans against the wall, hunched over. The cold night does little to calm his frazzled and fried nerves. And little to calm the fire on his face and in his heart. As much as he tried to not look at Crowley throughout her dance, his attention never left her. _That’s her job, and by Satan is she good at it._

He spends an indefinite time out there, calming his nerves. (His thoughts can not be though.)

He doesn’t know when in that time smoke fills his nose. 

“Thought I’d catch you out here.” Crowley’s low tone causes Azriaphale to drop to the floor. 

“Jes-UM! Cro-Scarlet!” Crowley smirks at him. Her eyes are on her lighter as she lights her cig. Her mask is on her face and she's in clothes. ( _Thank heavens._ ) Aziraphale stares at her, like he found his celebrity buying milk at his grocery store. 

“I-I-I thought you wouldn’t want to ev-ever see me again.” It stumbles out of his mouth like a newborn animal. Her eyes move to stare out to the street. 

“You’re right, I don’t.” Her voice is cold and sharp, like the edge of a new knife. “I just came here to see you wallow.” (If he could her face, her sorrow would be plain to him. As long with her clenched jaw and stiff lips.) He looks to his clasped hands. He feels that same feeling from a week ago. That pain in his chest full of feelings he can’t really define. 

“I’m sorry for St. James. I-I-I wasn-”

“I DIDN’T come out here to hear you try explain yourself.” Her eyes full of anger and spite meet his again. She bares her teeth and flicks her cigarette away from him. “As I said, I came out here to gloat.” (He doesn’t have time to see it, but the sorrow comes back.) With that she leaves the alleyway, throwing her boa over her shoulder. 

Aziraphale crouches against the building and feels a tear in his eyes. _There_ **_must_ ** _have been more to her coming out here, right? Was she actually looking for me? Was this just a coincidence? Why can’t she look at me with the same warmth from before? Why can’t I get that back?_

_I miss it._

_I miss_ **_us._ **

_And it’s all my fault I can’t have it anymore._

Aziraphale lets the silent tears fall from his eyes. As he sits outside on a cold winter night, feeling his dream fly further away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yee, thanks for sticking with my incontinent posting. School sucks big time but I got it.  
> Have a good rest of your day!


	21. Aziraphale Nightingale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flashback happens 2 days after Aziraphale first sees Crowley perform.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Klarebell1383 for telling me I posted the same chapter twice. I did a big silly and again, school sucks booty. But, I'm back and I swear, it's something different.

_Deary me, I never should have allowed them to convince me._

Crowley and Bernie had come to him with the idea for him to sing to a large audience a few days ago. He would have argued against it more but, Crowley left before he could continue. Bernie had bribed him with a ‘Please do it for Irene. The money will always be helpful. And I’m sure it isn’t that bad.’ And Aziraphale couldn’t say no to helping Irene. (And because he still had hope. As little and as small as it was. It was still very very bright.)

Aziraphale fusses with his outfit for his performance. He didn't mind wearing a dress. (After all, angels were sexless beings unless they made an effort.) But he was terrified at what his singing could do to dozens of people.

He again, smoothed out his dress.

Now, the outfit. It was white and went to his knees. It had big black fur lines around his collar and wrist and his shoes were low heel. He had _miraculously_ grown out his hair to be fashionable for the time. (While Bernie wanted to question if it was a wig or not, he decided that hair doesn't grow that long, that fast, without a little divine intervention.) He didn’t wear much makeup. Just a little blush and eyeliner there, just enough for the time. 

“And for our final act of today’s show, our very own Nightingale!” 

_Oh dear, I wish they just stayed with my name._

Aziraphale did his best to walk like Crowley as he entered the stage. He put on his most stunning smile (think of his smile during the gavotte scene. Only less genuine.) and waved at the crowd. A polite clap trickled into the room. As he looked into the crowd, he only looked for one face. But she wasn’t there. However, Bernie gave a thumbs up. ( _Ever observant.)_ Aziraphale sighed in disappointment but still appreciated the gesture. He cleared his voice and using his angelic abilities, changed his voice to be _a bit_ more feminine. 

“Hello ladies and gentlemen!” He was regarded with narrowed eyes and fake coughs. He was something new and they didn't know what to expect. “Thank you all for coming! Tonight, I shall sing for you, “Lousie.”” The sound of the soft jazz band filled the room. And so did the memories from last night. 

**_Aziraphale had finished up his book session with Irene and sent her off to bed. The determination to talk to Crowley personally and clear the air fueled his steps. With what happened outside the speakeasy, he grew even more determined to close the ever growing gap between them. Even if his goal felt more and more like a heavenly paradise._ **

**_As he walked down the hallway, he finally reached her door. With a hesitant breath, he knocked on the door. A part of him wanted Crowley to open the door so they could talk. Another part wanted to ignore the pain growing in his chest._ **

_Wonderful! Oh, it's wonderful_

_To be in love with you._

_Beautiful! You're so beautiful,_

_You haunt me all day through._

All of the gang was able to ignore his hypnotizing voice with blessed earplugs. (That surprisingly worked.) The patrons, however, were dragged into sleep by his voice. 

**_“Scarlet? May we please talk, just the two of us?” Aziraphale waited for a response. It all felt very familiar, he thinks. Waiting for a response through a door._ **

**_But Aziraphale brushed the feeling off quickly. Now wasn’t the time to worry about the past. It was all about moving forward._**

**_When Crowley didn’t respond, he knocked on the door a little harder._ **

**_“Please Crowley?” He heard shuffling from behind the door. His heart soared above the clouds in anticipation and worry._ **

**_“What do you want?” It’s mumbled but he heard it. He smiles to himself, he got her to answer!_ **

**_“I just want to talk about us. About all that happened at St. James. Maybe over a cup, like old times.”_ **

**_Her reply was a huff._ **

_Every little breeze seems to whisper "Louise."_

_Birds in the trees seem to twitter "Louise."_

_Each little rose_

_Tells me it knows I love you, love you._

No one had fallen asleep, but some looked on the verge of it. Noticing this, Aziraphale softly snapped to the beat of the song. Some of the gang started snapping along too. 

**_“What is there to say, Aziraphale?”_ **

**_Aziraphale doesn’t know, but he attempts a response._ **

**_“I’m so so sorry I was cruel to you Crowley. I thought you might have been using me.”_ **

**_It sounds like she spat on the floor… Or on him._ **

**_“Well, karma’s a bitch.” It’s quiet for a moment. Aziraphale goes to ask but, “I really don’t have the energy to talk about this. Screw off please.”_ **

**_“Please Crowley. I really do love you.” Another huff. (And a sniffle?)_ **

_Every little beat that I feel in my heart,_

_Seems to repeat, What I felt from the start,_

_Each little sigh_

_Tells me that I adore you, Louise._

Crowley stands from atop a balcony, glaring at him. Her heart feels like it’s on fire, raging with contradictions. She wants to accept him, to let herself fall back in love with him. _Because he does make it so impossibly easy._ But at the same time she still hates him _._ Hates him for leaving her, for ditching her, for making her run from her only source of _real_ warmth. She can’t just easily let go of all that just because he says, “I love you. Really this time.” 

**_“Yeah? So what?” Aziraphale can hear the cracks and sniffles in her voice. He leans against the door. He wishes so much that he could comfort her. “I know your lying about loving me. But why? So you can get special treatment or so you can stab me in the heart again? Or so you have something else to tell Gabriel and all your real friends?” He hears her choke back a sob. Aziraphale can feel his heart break._ **

**_“Now screw off, Aziraphale. I’m tired. Really tired. If it wasn’t for Irene, Eugene, Bernie and everyone else I’d leave again.”_ **

_Anyone can see why I wanted your kiss,_

_It had to be But the wonder is this:_

_Can it be true,_

_Someone like you Could love me, Louise?_

The sound of the snapping gets Crowley out of her thoughts. The lyrics of the song make her turn her nose up in disgust. _He thinks he can sing to me and I’ll fall right back into his arms. He’s gonna have to have to do a little more than that._

**_“Wait! Crowley, why do you think I’m lying to you? I’ve known you for almost 6,000 years and have I ever once lied to you?” He hopes (and doesn’t hope) for a response._ **

**_“It’s about how you treated me like dirt! " She screams at him. He can feel her finger pointing at him. "How cold you were to me! Now, as your current boss, I’m telling you to, FUCK OFF!” Aziraphale stumbles back, taken aback by her response. (But not at the same time.) He feels a tear slip down his face and shame crash over him._ **

_Often when I'm gloomy_

_And in my lonely room._

_Thoughts of you come to me,_

_Like a sweet perfume._

**_“You thought I told Gabri-”_ **

**_“What did I say!? FUCK. OFF!” Aziraphale winces but backs further away from the door. He again hears her retreat back to her bed from behind the door. He does want to keep asking but he stops. He doesn't know if he can say anything after that revelation. He wipes at his eyes and sniffs. As he turns away, he’s met with Dorothy._ **

_Every little beat that I feel in my heart,_

_Seems to repeat, What I felt from the start,_

_Each little sigh_

_Tells me that I adore you, Louise._

Crowley has left the lounge to head to bed. She’s drained of everything, even her anger from earlier. She trudges back to her room, feeling just as tired as the rest of the patrons. 

**_She slinks up close to him, getting uncomfortably close._ _The closer she gets, the drier his eyes get._**

**_“I told you cop. She obviously doesn’t care about you like you do. You could just sneak away in the middle of the night. And no one would notice.” She reaches to touch his chest. He steps back and side eyes her._ **

**_“I’d rather not. I have friends here. Leaving them would be very rude. Thank you for the offer but I refuse.” She shrugs. She slithers up next to him and whispers in his ear._**

**_“Whatever you say, Azira. I’m always here for you.” She saunters away, leaving Aziraphale feeling all sorts of discomfort._ **

_Anyone can see why I wanted your kiss,_

_It had to be But the wonder is this:_

_Can it be true,_

_Someone like you Could love me, Louise?_ ****

The half-sleep crowd rally as much energy they have left to clap for Aziraphale. Some even cheer, though it’s not very enthused. Everyone in Eden’s Snakes makes up for it though with loud applause. Aziraphale simply smiles and gives a light giggle. 

“Thank you everyone for coming! It was lovely!” He clumsily saunters off the stage as the patrons are lead out. 

“You really think that’ll keep them from going mad?” 

“I can only hope. I’ve never sung for humans before.” Aziraphale shrugs. 

“Do you see Scarlet by any chance?” He says after a few seconds. Bernie looks off to the side and scratches his chin. 

“Nah, I don’t think so. Think she went off to bed long before you started singing.” Azirapahle’s eyes flash with sadness. But he quickly gets rid of it. __

_What were you expecting? Her to be waiting for you? You make me sick._

“Well, thank you for your honesty. Sleep well, Bernie.” (It was actually only 1 AM, not that late for the rest of the gang.) Aziraphale walks to his bedroom, stumbling over his thoughts and emotions. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a good rest of your day, my dudes!


	22. The Snake Reveals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley claims to have caused  
> -the Great Chicago Fire  
> \- Boss Tweed, a notoriously corrupt business man, escape prison  
> \- The rumor the Brooklyn Bridge was unsafe, causing a fatal stampede  
> (Just incase you didn't know what Crowley was talking about. And no, she didn't do any of these. She just talks a big talk.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Posting in the middle of the night? It's more likely than you think.  
> Anyway, today's song is Agnes by Glass Animals  
> (I edited the chapter to this song and two other sad songs and got really upset myself, so, take that with a grain of salt.)

Crowley couldn’t go to sleep. As much as she loves it, sleeping leaves room for thinking. And the last thing Crowley wants to do right now is think. So she turned to the multiple, multiple bottles behind the bar.

Now, it’s about 3 in the morning and she is piss drunk. (She threw everyone else out. They were too drunk to know what was going on, anyway.) No thoughts can get through her heavy cloud of alcohol. No thoughts about if her feelings for Aziraphale from 60 years ago were finally back. Or if holding onto this grudge that sapped so much out of her was worth it. The empty lounge was her desolate beach to drown her thoughts. And she wouldn’t want it any other way. 

Aziraphale, by the same token, couldn’t sleep. He might have said at 1 he would head to bed, but he could not. Usually he was able to relax and read in bed, but that proved fruitless. So he tried reading in his favorite chair, but even that did not work. He could not keep his thoughts tied to the book in front of him. He would constantly catch himself thinking about Crowley. Thinking about the incident outside the speakeasy, thinking about if it was really worth it to stay here. He just couldn’t shake her. 

_The last time I couldn’t stop thinking about her I realized I loved her._ A dopey smile comes to his face.

_Is it even worth it to try to talk to Crowley? All she’s done is push you away._

_I won’t leave her. That would be cruel and rude. To not only her but Irene as well._

_Maybe you’re the one making it worse. Constantly reminding her of how_ **_horrendous_ ** _she is. Why make it worse for her? It’s all so useless and self-indulgent. Just leave. Your better off as a_ **_demon.*_ **

Aziraphale reaches for the bottle he keeps in the table next to his chair. He puts it to his lips, hoping for the sweet release of alcohol. However, he finds the bottle empty. He sighs deeply. While he could easily miracle another bottle, a walk would do him good. 

Azirapahle soon finds himself meandering around. He takes turns he doesn’t need too and walks past the same doors over and over again. At first, it helps. Moving around and navigating the speakeasy occupied all of his thoughts. But eventually, as his thoughts always do, he thinks of Crowley. As those thoughts intrude on him, he hurries to the bar. 

_Just to grab a bottle. I’ll grab it, leave, and fall asleep to my book._

However, when he gets to the bar, he reaches an unexpected obstacle. 

“ANGEL! YOU’RE HERE! AW… AW MAN…. AW! I’VE BEEN WAITING… Waiting? Waiting! For you!” Aziraphale is greeted with Crowley’s enthusiastic voice. Her face is drunk flushed and she shows off an ear-to-ear grin. “COME ON! SIT! Sit!” She dramatically waves her hand over, almost toppling over. Her light-hearted giggle is what causes him to give into this little temptation.

He takes a seat next to her and grabs a bottle of alcohol. Soon, the two are chatting like old times. Currently they were on Crowley’s past and all the 'bad' stuff she did. 

“See… I was part of the… the… train building thingy. I was very, very… something. Bad? Or Good? It’s been like…. At least 5 weeks since I built train thingys.” Aziraphale takes a sip of his drink and rolls his eyes playfully. _No matter the time or their relationship, she still acts the same way when she’s drunk._ “I didn’t do very much in the 60’ssssss. I just kind of… did.” Aziraphale nods again. He doesn’t say much, and let’s her go on as long as she wants.

“I also said to.. Hell, y’know… that I, that’s right, I, caused the big fire. It was very bad and they very liked it. I didn’t really do it, but, boy… they were all SO SO proud of me. And! I sssssaid…I told ‘em I helped that Tweed, suit Tweed man escape! HA! Like I would.” As she rambled on, Aziraphale politely nodded along to everything. (Since he was busy being sad in Crowley's bed, he had no idea what Crowley was going on about. So all he could do was nod.)

“I alssssssso sssssaid I sssstarted that rumor that the Bridge.” (She stops. She knows this is a very important bridge but the name isn’t coming to her. So, a quick glance at the alcohol shelves fills it’s name) “BRANDY! Brandy Bridge was BAD.” She wags a finger at him, “Bad news.” 

(Crowley would never tell a soul but she was actually part of the Haymarket Affair and was part of the Red Cross for most of the years. Her past about being Raphael had lead her to naturally being good at healing people. No miracles needed, so no report of her good deeds would show up in Hell. A win-win.)

Aziraphale stares in wonderment at her. Seeing her this happy and excited made him feel whole again. Not to say reading and talking with Irene didn’t make him happy. But this was a different kind of happy. 

“You haven’t ssssssaid much angellllll. Ssssssomething? Ssssomething on…. mind?” Aziraphale feels his eyes well at the nickname. A quivering sigh fills the air. 

“Nothing. Nothing dear.” He wipes away the welling tears and smiles brightly at Crowley. 

“I’ve…I’ve missed that ssssmile.” She gets out of her seat and slowly leans into his face. “I’ve misssssed you, those eyes too. I wonder… I wonder about a lot,” she laughs at her little inside joke, “A LOT A LOT… but... I wonder if you… Aziraphale, angel boyyyy…. still taste the same after all these timesssss.” Aziraphale’s face heats up and his eyes flick away from Crowley’s. “I wonder so much. Very so much about how you feel… angel.” Her voice tapers off into a whisper. Her smooth voice carries Aziraphale’s eyes to her apple-red lips. They're only a breath away but at the same time, a moon's distance away. 

His heart, for just a second, want him to close the distance between them. 

But his knee jerk reaction and rational thought causes him to fly back away from her lips. 

His mouth gaps open as her tears from the moon splash down on him. 

“I’ve missed you so, so, so much. And. And you left! Left me!” A sob rips from her throat. She clenches the side of the bar stool as her tears pull her down.

“And! AND! Here you are! DOING IT AGAIN!” 

She stumbles and falls. Aziraphale immediately catches her. She clings helplessly to him as he embraces her, drowning. 

“D-d-don’t leave me! Please! Don’t abandon me again!” 

Her steel grip pulls them both to the floor. He brings her as close to him as he can.

“Please angel, pretty please Aziraphale.” 

“I won’t Crowley. I’m not leaving you anytime soon.” 

He wraps his wing around them both, swaddling her in his arms and wings.

“Promise! I can’t lose you again angel.” Her voice softens, like she’ll slip through his fingers and back to the moon. 

Aziraphales holds her together. 

“I promise. I’m not leaving you ever again. I love you Crowley.” He whispers into her hair. Her rapid breathing smooths out and she's grounded. Her arms wrap around him and squeeze.

“Ssssay it again, angel.” Tears still slip down her face. But her smile rivals that of a thousand suns. “I’ve always wanted to hear those words. For…. 6,000 years I have. I’ve loved you too for sososo long.” 

Aziraphale feels his heart break. 

_For 6,000 years she loved me. And it took me hurting her to even realize I felt the same._

“I’ll say it as much as you need me too. I love you ever so much Crowley.” 

She snuggled into his wings and smiles at him. (And he feels warmed by a thousand pleasantly warmed suns.)

“I love you… too… angel.” Her final words before she sleeps are slurred and relaxed. Aziraphale cradles her close to him and lightly rocks her. He feels a tear slip from his face. (In melancholy or relief or regret, he didn’t know. But he was _happy._ Happy that there was a _chance._ ) 

He picked her up bridal style and kissed her hair. He carried her to her room. His lifted mood was shattered when he found a teary-eyed Irene in Crowley's bed. 

“Mr. Azira! I had a-a-a scary nightmare! And I didn’t want to bother Bernie so I came here and I didn’t-”

“Dear, dear. It’s okay. Let me set Ms. Scarlet down on her bed and we’ll talk. Okay?” He said, as softly as he could. She nods and sits in Crowley’s chair. She twiddles with her fingers and pulls on her hair.

Aziraphale lays Crowley down. He wraps her in the blanket after removing her accessories. Then he sits, turns around and pats the spot next to him. She quickly makes her way over and sits on the bed. She doesn't sit close to him but as clenched into a ball next to him.

“What’s got you so upset, dearie?” 

“Nightmare.” 

“Do you want to tell me what it was about?” 

He doesn’t push or pressure her. He waits for her. 

“I… What happened was… you and Ms. Scarlet and Bernie and e-e-everyone was d-d-”

Her sobs and tears rob her voice. Aziraphale pulls her into a hug and she returns it. Her tears soak his shoulder. 

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. Everyone here is fine. Don’t worry yourself. Okay dearie?” She nods hiccupping. 

“I-I-I can’t help it sometimes. You all live such d-d-dangerous lives. And-And I would be all alone. And I know I’m almost 11. And I know I shouldn’t be having childish nightmares. And I shouldn’t be running to Ms. Scarlet because of it but I was so so scared and she’s always there for me...” She trails off and sags against him. He reassuringly rubs her back. 

“It’s okay dearie. Nightmares aren’t childish. They are just a part of human nature. Don’t worry, love.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “Here, you want to lay down with us?” Aziraphale’s words catch up with him. (Not that he regrets it, he would never want Irene to feel unwanted. He's had enough of doing that. But, _us_ is what caused him to pause.) 

Her wide eyes match his. 

“Is… is that okay?” 

Aziraphale hesitated. 

_Crowley’s is great with kids. I’m sure if she woke up in the morning and I explained it, she wouldn't be too mad._

_Hopefully._

“Of course, dearie. Go on, you lay in between us.” 

So Irene did. She laid next to Crowley and her _miraculously_ not alcohol smelling breath. She snuggled closer to her as Aziraphale gets comfortable under the blankets. Crowley’s arms wrap around her loosely. And soon Irene fell asleep, content between the two. 

But Aziraphale stayed awake and took in the moment. Sure, his dream was always just him and Crowley close in an embrace in a cottage in South Downs. 

But he liked this option just as much. 

And he fell asleep, just like his dream had come true. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Recently all his self-hatred thoughts seemed to vaguely remind him of Gabriel.  
> 


	23. A Halo of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff!?! In my story?! It's more likely thank you think!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yee haw boissss, we're reached the third act of this fanfic! And by that I don't mean this is the last chapter, they still have to formally confess to one another. But we are getting closer to the end of the book. But that doesn't I'm not gonna stop writing either! I have a few fan fic ideas already in my drafts. (Mainly me just dumping my own Reverse AU ideas somewhere.) So, be on the look out for those!  
> Enough about me, enjoy the chapter!

Crowley wakes up with a raging headache and a black spot in her memory. As usual when she decides to drink herself away, she can’t remember anything more than drinking a few bottles of alcohol. 

As she stares at the ceiling of her room, trying to color in that black spot, she becomes aware of her surroundings. Specifically the light and heavy snoring coming from beside her. As she tilted her head to look, she was greeted with a wholesome sight. 

Irene was curled up close to Aziraphale. The light from the window surrounded them both in a halo of warm light. Irene’s hair and their tranquil expressions also added to that effect.

And Crowley smiled to herself. Crowley let herself enjoy the sight of her two favor-

Her mood and her smile are soured instantly. 

_Wait! Wait a second! Only one of them is my favorite! I hate the other one with a passion!!_

But as Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s blissful and smiling face, she realized how flimsy the second sentence was. (A smile unconsciously spreads across her face.) 

_You don’t hate him. You still feel love for him._

His face was a glow in the bright light. It worked so well on his face, the face of an angel. 

_No! No I do not love this adorable doughy angel. I hate every angelic thing he stands for!_

Irene seemed so happy next to him, blissfully sleeping as well. She didn’t mind seeing her in bed with her. (It wasn’t the first time she had awoken to her in her bed.) But her cuddled so close to Aziraphale was a surprise. A delightful one though, one that warmed her. A warmth that you get when sitting next to a warm fireplace with a loved one. 

_You might be against Heaven, but we both know that’s not him._

Crowley reaches to pull some of Irene’s hair out of her face. She leans forward to give her a kiss on the forehead. Her smile only adds to the light haloing her. 

She turns and looks at Aziraphale with narrowed eyes.

_You don’t wanna get hurt again do you!? Have him reject you and leave you again?!_

His smile is blissful, a smile that you can only get in paradise. A smile she has missed. 

_I’ve given him so many chances to leave. And everytime I push him away, he tries again. He keeps trying to talk to me._

She leans over Irene and him. She hovers for a bit, taking him in. She flicks her tounge out momentarily. A smile appears. 

_He does smell the same. I’m surprised they make that same damn cologne._

She gives him a kiss on his temple too. 

“I love you too Aziraphale. Just give me a bit more time, angel.”

She lays back down, Irene between them. She looks at them, their smiles in her eyes. And she just sat there, enjoying this short moment in their vast universe. 

It gave her the warmth of a thousand pleasantly warmed suns. She felt… at peace. For the first time in 60 or so years. 

Soon, in the wee hours of the morning, as the bright sunlight streams into her room, Crowley falls back asleep. Her arm around both of them, cuddled up close to them. A content smile on all of their faces. 

And through the door, Bernie felt his fate sealed.

He should have known better. He should have known as he watched Scarlet quietly confess, he wasn’t part of the picture. Yes, Irene was still his family. But if she wanted to live with the three, who was he to impose? How could he? He couldn't care for her like them two could. 

Scarlet and Mr. Azira were once a thing. The attraction between them, even here, was more noticeable than any neon sign. Who was he to hurt Scarlet by forcing himself into the mix? There was no room for him in their family. 

Vaguely he was aware of this fact. Ever since the moment he comforted her in her dressing room after she first saw Mr. Azira again, he knew it. He knew as she talked about him that night she still loved him. 

But to see it was something different. To see it in front of him, only made it worse for him. He closes the door on the blissful trio. He crumples to the floor and just sits there. He stares blankly at the wall in front of him, lost in the sea of his emotions. His own dream slipping into the darkness around him. 

So as the light encompasses Scarlet and her future, Bernie accepts the life in front of him. The awkward fourth wheel to Scarlet’s happy family. And as much sadness that brings him, an odd sense of finality pulls him under and into sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought it would be completely angst free?! Psyche!


	24. Dorothy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothy goes a little cuckoo for cocoa puffs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hnnnng, sorry I didn't update. The house I was dog sitting at lost it's internet and then I got home and played with my new puppy so,,,,, please accept this new chapter and my humblest apologies,,,  
> Anyway, today's song is True Value by Dad Feels

Now, we must take a side trip to take a look at Dorothy. 

Dorothy and her twin Doris grew up in a normal loving home. After both of them getting out of highschool, they found themselves in front of _Serpentines._ They got in with their friends and one thing lead to another and eventually they’ve already worked there for a week. 

When Aziraphale came along, not much changed between the twins. They still acted like they always did. Of course Dorothy couldn’t help herself if she thought he was at least a little cute. 

But on September 28, everything changed for Dorothy. For that was the day she heard Aziraphale sing. 

When she first woke up, there was a faint voice in the back of her head. Everytime she went to listen to the voice it would slip away like a balloon. But she could always grab a few words. Those words being, _singing, he’s, good,_ always shuffled in a grab-bag sort of way. 

However, on October 1, she gets the news about Aziraphale singing. With that little news, the voice becomes more than background noise. 

So when Aziraphale gets on stage, and as everyone in Eden’s Snakes puts in their earplugs, Dorothy leaves her out. 

And then the voice gets louder. Not all consuming but more than a little annoying. 

The two days after the voice had gotten louder are… irritating to say the least. 

The sentences are coherent now. 

_Aziraphale and his singing are amazing! I’ve never heard anything better! I wish I could hear it all the time. It’s so good! Heavenly and breath-_ She usually swats away the thought by then. 

Then it’s been two weeks since the voice appeared. And 10 days since she could actually hear the voice. Now, she can’t as easily swat the thoughts away. Even if she does, it swarms her again like a cloud of gnats. 

At the weekly dinner, she glares knives at her plate. Not at all paying attention to the food in front of her, picking at it uselessly. (Subconsciously making a tune out of it.)

Doris obviously notices. 

“Doe? What’s wrong? You seem off.” 

Dorothy, swatting again at the growing cloud of gnats, snaps. 

“Fuck off Doris. I don’t need you babying me. If I could just have some peace and QUIET around here, I’d seem less ‘off.’” Dorothy stalks off, crossing her arms and tapping her fingers. (To that same tune from earlier.) Feeling put off and shocked, Doris leaves her sister alone for the rest of the week. 

Then it’s another week. It’s the week of October 12 to be exact. 

And then a few new thoughts join Dorohty’s thoughts. Such as _Isn’t Aziraphale handsome? He really is the best guy any woman could get. He might love that bitch Scarlet but she doesn’t feel the same. I could convince him to love me instead! So I can be the only one to hear him sing!_

She tries her hardest to get rid of those thoughts. To get rid of those annoying ass gnats.

But the gnats never leave, no matter how hard she swats at them. 

To keep her mind off the overlapping voices in her head, she takes up tapping a pen against any surface. (Subconsciously, the tapping is always in tune to a song Aziraphale had sung.) Whether that be a desk or her own leg, she taps the pen. 

Her symptoms are worse. Her is dry and stringy with the amount of times she’s sat in the shower, trying so hard to listen to the water hitting the tiles. Her legs and arms are red from the tapping of her pen. 

She didn’t help Doris make dinner like she usually did. For she was busy staring longingly (or menacingly) at Aziraphale as he talked with Bernie. She taps her pen against the table at dinner and stares at her food. 

Again, Doris notices.

“Doe! You didn’t help at all with dinner and you were tapping your pen obnoxiously loud! I gave you a week, so what’s the problem?” Dorothy shakes her head and continues tapping her pen.

“Aziraphale. His singing has just gripped me lately. It’s all I can think about. I just want to hear it all the time.” Doris rolls her eyes.

“I’ve seen how you get when your obsessed with a patron or someone. You’ve never gotten this bad!” Dorothy chuckles.

“He’s a different kind of man, Dee.” Her eyes display the hopelessness and uncertainty in her voice. 

And Doris doesn’t know what to do either. 

She could tell Scarlet and get help. But 1) she had no idea what the exact problem was and 2) if she told Scarlet that could get her best friend out of her life and into an insane asylum. Not something she wanted for her sister. 

So, she keeps her eye and ear on her. Dorothy spends the nights away in their shared room, tapping her pen against her leg and scribbling almost nonsense. 

Now, it’s the third week. Dorothy looks nothing like her former self. With her dull hair and dry skin; all from her multiple hours in the showers. Now she hums along to the tapping of her pen and at dinner goes all moony-eyed at the angel. Looking mostly at his lips and hands and dreaming her own dreams. 

Now instead of snapping at people, she sing-talks to them. Her voice never losing it’s whimsical sound, like she’s walking through a cloud. 

Everyone asks her what’s wrong now.

“Dorothy? What’s wrong! What’s causing this?”

“Dorothy? You’re not looking too good. Anything I can do to help?”

“Miss Dorothy!? Bernie’s really worried about you!! Please let Dr. Irene treat you!”

“Excuse me? What are you doing back here? Are you alright?”

But Dorothy responds the same way every time.

“I don’t need anything but his singing.” 

And most people leave her be. Sheerly because _how do you respond to that?_

But when she tells Aziraphale this in a dim hallway after his performance, something clicks in his head and he realizes who he’s talking to.

“Dorothy?”

“The one and only, angel! Your performance was amazing!! Like it could be anything else! I don't think I could live if I didn't hear you sing every week! Why can’t you do it more though? Even better, why don’t you come to my room and sing for just me!? Please please please angel!” With every word, she slithers closer and closer to him. And he backs away with every advance she makes. To her it feels like a game of cat and mouse. A game she is determined to win. (No matter what or who it cost.)

“I’m sorry Dorothy but I can’t sing for you anymore.” She stops tapping her pen. Her blissed out eyes snap to a cold stare. 

“Why. Not?” She growls at him. Aziraphale flinches. 

“I… It seems that… my singing… isn’t… good for you.” She gets right next to his face. Her wild eyes and frenzied breathing push him to the ground. 

“YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TELL ME WHAT IS GOOD AND WHAT’S BAD FOR ME!!!! I NEED!! TO HEAR YOU SING!!!!” Her hand snatches the collar of his button up. 

“I NEED YOUR SINGING!!!!” Her breath swarms his senses. He turns his head away in disgust. (And in fear.)

“Hey you! Get off of him!” A voice causes Aziraphale to look at the voice. Bernie stands behind him running towards them. 

She lets go of him and rears back like an another animal went for her food. By the time Bernie gets to Aziraphale, Dorothy has made it back to her room. 

She breaks down when she gets to her room. She throws her papers upon papers of love letters to him around the room, tearing them into shreds, soaking them with her tears.

She screams about how ‘IT ISN’T FAIR!’ and ‘I DESERVE HIM MORE THAN THAT BITCH!’ She curses and screams at God for making him love with another. She tears at her hair, screaming at herself for falling in love ~~~~~~lust.~~

 ~~~~ ~~~~Dorothy spends the rest of her night tearing the letters into nothingness. Tearing them into as many pieces as her heart (and psyche) were.

Begging for something in her life to fill the hole his singing had left in her. 

But, at the same time, driven further to have him all to herself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a good day/night!


	25. A Puzzle Named Dorothy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hnnnng, I'm the worst author but school is even worse,,,, so again, here are my humblest apologies for not updating in one/two weeks.  
> The song this week is "I Wouldn't Want To Be Like You" by The Alan Parson Project.

It had been about a month since Crowley’s confession to Aziraphale. 

But of course, since Aziraphale was asleep, he didn’t hear it.

But Aziraphale knows something must have changed in Crowley. _Does she remember what she said when she got drunk? Did she have a change of heart?_

Aziraphale choose to not follow that thread for there was progress abound. 

The first week was sprinkled with good mornings and goodnights. Aziraphale doesn't care how small the actions were or how fast they were. He only cared that _she can talk to me!_

The second week is quick congrats, small gifts and pats on the shoulder. It’s light and brief but they were _talking! They were being friends again!_ It comes to a head when he’s invited to the weekly dinner. He sits around in a room filled with _love. A great, big, encompassing, warm love._

_Maybe… Maybe I’ve finally caught up with that willy old serpent. Maybe… this can be our do-over._

But the third week brought... something to Aziraphale's attention. 

Aziraphale had just finished his performance. Crowley sat in the crowd smiling at him and clapping the loudest out of everyone in the crowd. Aziraphale threw a kiss to the crowd (aimed at Crowley) and smoothly walked off. 

He reached backstage and smiled. _Another truly splendid night . And Crowley was there again! Everything seems to be going-_

Then Aziraphale sensed something off. A feeling that wasn't exactly love (if it was love it was twisted and mutilated) washed over him. He looked around him, trying to get a feel from where this _love?_ was coming from. 

He turns to see a girl with stringy brown hair. Her skin was cracked and pale like an old china vase. She nervously tapped her pen against her leg, humming just loud enough for him to hear. Not knowing if this was a rabid fan or something else, he cautiously approached her. 

“Excuse me? What are you doing back here? Are you alright?” 

And with her smile and eyes shrouded in mysticism, she said, “I don’t need anything but your singing.” 

Now, Aziraphale was smart. Not smart with emotions (anyone whose read this story would notice) but he knew his multiplication tables. So, it didn’t take him long to connect the dots.

“...Dorothy?” 

“The one and only angel! ( _Only Crowley gets to call me that...)_ Your performance was amazing!! Like it could be anything else! I don't think I could **LIVE** if I didn't hear you sing every week! Why can’t you do it more though? Even better, why don’t you come to my room and sing for just me!? Please please please angel!” She slithers closer and closer to him with every sentence as he takes a step further and further back. 

“I’m sorry Dorothy but I can’t sing for you anymore.” He says with his eyes on his shoes. She stops tapping her pen. Her blissed out eyes snap to a cold stare. 

“Why. Not?” She growls at him. Aziraphale flinches. 

“I… It seems that… my singing… isn’t… good for you.” The sudden appearance on her wild eyes and frenzied breathing right next to his face push him to the ground. 

“YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TELL ME WHAT IS GOOD AND WHAT’S BAD FOR ME!!!!" 

She towers over him.

"I NEED!!"

Her hand snatches the collar of his button up. And he flinches again. 

"TO HEAR YOU SING!!!!”

A terrified cry leaves him before he can stop it. 

“I NEED YOUR SINGING!!!!”

Her breath swarms his senses. He turns his head away in disgust. (And in fear.)

“Hey you! Get off of him!” A voice causes Aziraphale to look at the voice. Bernie stands behind him running towards them. 

She lets go of him and rears back like she's been attacked. By the time he gets to Aziraphale, Dorothy has made it back to her room. 

“Hey! Azira! You okay man?!” Bernie pulls him off the ground. Aziraphale stumbles into his arms and pants. 

Aziraphale leans cradled in Bernie's arms, scaring the shit out of Bernie. _(He's not responding! God Dammit it! If only it wasn't so late!)_

Airaphale, still in a shock, sinks into his thoughts. 

_Why is this happening to Dorothy? Why does my singing have this affect on her?_

_Why did she scare me so much just then?_

"...Phale! …Aphale! … Ziraphale! Aziraphale! Come on man! Answer me!" Aziraphale hangs onto Bernie's voice as it pulls his thoughts to surface. Even above the surface, what happens isn't far from Aziraphale's mind. "Azira! Hey buddy! You okay now?" He looks up to him, unresponsive still. Bernie snaps his fingers to get his attention. 

"AZIRA!" 

"Oh! Yes! yes Bernie!?" Aziraphale comes to finally. And realizes that he's wrapped snuggly in Bernie's arms. He then leaps out of the said arms. 

“So terribly sorry Bernie! I didn’t mean to cause such a ruckus! I’ll be on my way and into my room!” Aziraphale scurries off, leaving Bernie to sit on the floor in confusion. 

Once he reaches his room, Aziraphale slides to the floor. He puts his head in his hands in distress. 

_What is wrong with her? My singing has something to do with it but why is it affecting her like this? I haven't seen other members in the crowd act like she is. Does it affect people differently? Why am I only seeing the symptoms now? Could this have been prevented? How will I tell Crowley all this?_

He spends the rest of the night staring at his hands, trying to piece together the puzzle named Dorothy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank to all of you who still read this chapter. I'll try to work on the ending chapters but,,, Mindhunter is such a good show,,, Anyway have a good day/night!  
> (Comments are greatly appreciated too,,, but you leaving kudos is enough too.)


End file.
